Trials of Morality

Posted originally on the Archive of Our Own at http://archiveofourown.org/works/4618611.

Rating: Mature
Archive Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Rape/Non-Con
Fandoms: Doctor Who, Doctor Who (2005), Doctor Who & Related Fandoms
Relationship: Tenth Doctor/Rose Tyler
Characters: Tenth Doctor, Rose Tyler, Original Characters
Additional Tags: Slavery, Torture, Psychological Torture, Aftermath of Torture, Collars,
Non-Graphic Rape/Non-Con, Rape/Non-con Elements, Past Rape/Non-
con, Rape Aftermath, Mind Manipulation, Hunting, fight for your life,
Forced Sciencing, Training, Original Character(s), Abuse, Non-
Consensual Drug Use, Dark, What Have I Done, Hurt/Comfort, Mild
Fluff, Budding Love, Hurt doctor, Hurt Rose, Everyone's Hurt, i'm hurt,
you're hurt, Alien Planet, Hunger Games-Esque, Badass Doctor, Warrior
Doctor, Flashbacks
Language: English
Stats: Published: 2015-08-20 Completed: 2025-02-25 Words: 235,685
Chapters: 60/60
 Trials of Morality
by Xmyheart_Hope2die

Summary

When the Doctor inadvertently manages to insult the native population of some burnt desert
planet on the outskirts of civilization, Rose expected to get away with a few bumps and
bruises and a good laugh. Therefore, suddenly being captured by slavers and sold off to the
highest bidder came as a bit of a surprise.

Now the Doctor must fight through a deadly game of slave vs master to win back their
freedom...and their lives.

Notes

Hello! Welcome to Trials of Morality, a thrilling roller-coaster of pain, fluff, and suffering! I
have 53 chapters of this written already (I'm slowly moving this fic off of fanfiction.net....I
know, finally.) so I'll be posting a new chapter every other day or so until we catch up. This is
a long one, people, but hopefully it'll keep you intrigued until the bitter end. Enjoy!

See the end of the work for more notes

 Chapter 1

Prologue:

The entire facility was buzzing with excitement as the shuttle landed at the dock. It was a
fine, sleek piece of machinery, artfully crafted for short-distance flights and ceremonial
decoration. Its metallic body reflected the dull, nondescript walls of the building it landed
beside, creating a stark juxtaposition between the two.

Heavily reinforced walls rose up on the other three sides of the docking area and a metal plate
slid across the top as a ceiling, sealing the shuttle in. Now, if anyone was looking, it would
seem as if the shuttle had never landed here. Politically, of course, it hadn’t. As far as the
universe was concerned, the shuttle was still in route to Saxicon 7 for an Ambassador’s
Dinner. No one would expect it to be here.

The employees of the facility had all been told to keep their heads down, but that was like
asking a crowd of rabid fans to ignore the presence of a rock star. Discreetly from behind
their computer screens and stacks of papers, dozens of pairs of eyes could be seen following
the figure as it was led down the hallway to the observation office, the president of the
‘company’ rambling away like a salesman trying to suck in a deal.

“As you can see, this is a state-of-the-art facility with a full-time staff dedicated to making
the transactions run as smoothly as possible. We have a fantastic medical staff on hand to
care for the stock as well as physical and psychological trainers for all areas of interest. We’re
paving the road to the future in this industry, Prebassador Ligtech, one illegal black market
trade at a time.”

Jancon Ligtech glanced around the large command room with impressed interest. He was a
young man in his mid to late twenties, incredibly handsome by his planet’s standards, with
beautiful charcoal colored skin and disheveled silver hair that matched his eyes, which were
just one eerie shade darker than the whites surrounding them. There was a glint in those eyes
that showed him, despite his distinguished clothes and well-mannered stature, for what he
really was. A playboy. A pleasure junkie. The heir to a wealthy ambassadorial line who had
taken too kindly to money.

“And, of course,” The president continued with a large, fake smile. “As you can probably
assume from the state of our facility, our stock is top of the line, kept in the best condition in
the market.”

“I’ve clearly come to the right place.” Jancon mused with a small laugh.

“You’re a first-time buyer, are you not?”

“Yes, I am. I’m just looking for something fun to help pass the time, you know?”

The president laughed shallowly. “What, not enough women on your planet to keep you
busy?” A few employees within earshot had to hide behind their desks to cover their laughter.
They had all heard about Jancon’s recent exploits.

Jancon himself laughed and shrugged. “Sometimes you have to change it up a little. Do you
have anything for me?”

“Of course!” The president reached a stairwell that led up into the posh observation room and
motioned for Jancon to follow. “Generally we don’t do this – we usually separate out the
stock we need to get rid of soon, or that fits the buyers budget, so they never really get a
chance to see the whole supply. But then again, we’ve never had anyone as distinguished as
yourself joining us.” Jancon nodded a polite ‘thanks’ for the compliment. “So you can have
your pick of the stock, if you find anything that fancies you. And I have no doubt you will.”

The president opened the door and stepped back to allow Jancon in first. Jancon swept his
eyes over the room, which was equipped with a handful of chairs and a leather sofa with a
rich red carpet and comfortable low lighting. All the furniture was positioned to face one
direction; a wall that was made completely of glass, overlooking an expansive room below.

“Incredible.” Jancon commented flatly as he approached the clear wall and gazed down at the
‘stock’ room. In comparison to where he was standing, the stockroom was bleak, industrial, a
stretch of grey walls with metal net fencing rising up to the tall ceiling above. The walls were
lined with metal benches, where thirty or more men and women sat, huddled either alone or
in small groups, in various states of neglect. There was not much movement or excitement
below; the prisoners simply sat on display with nothing else to do.

Jancon’s silver eyes raked across the scene, landing briefly on a woman with bright red hair,
and then on a man with curious ocean-blue skin, the color of Earth’s Caribbean. A small
laugh escaped him as he noticed an Ood standing apart from the group. Finally, his eyes
settled on a couple sitting in the corner, also separate from the rest. The female had her head
resting on the male’s lap, her blond hair falling over his legs as he ran a finger through the
strands. He was saying something to her, his head bent down to look into her face so his own
was partially concealed by his tousled brown hair, but then he looked up and glanced around,
a protective glint in his eye that made Jancon shiver.

“That one.” He said as he pointed towards the intriguing couple.

The president moved to the intercom positioned on a large, oak desk, smiling widely. “The
female?” He asked in confirmation.

“No. The male.” The members of the observation room – which consisted mostly of the
president and a few staff members – exchanged amused and astonished looks that they
quickly tried to hide.

The president gave a small laugh as he pressed the intercom button. “Bring MD196305 up to
observation, please.” He turned back to Jancon. “I hope you’re ready for this, Prebassador.
This one’s a lot to handle.”

Jancon saw it for himself a few moments later when the door to the stockroom was thrown
open and a group of guards entered the room. Many of the prisoners looked up, shrinking
away from the new presence. The blond female instantly took her head off the male’s lap,
sitting up as the male visibly tensed, drawing her closer to him with one shielding move.

“Is that his mate?” Jancon asked, indicating the blond girl.

“Yes,” The president sighed as if the topic had a long story that had caused much stress.
“They came in together not too long ago and are completely inseparable. You’re going to
have an interesting time handling this.”

Jancon could see that as the guards approached the corner the two had been occupying,
motioning at the male and saying something the small microphone in the room couldn’t quite
pick up. Whatever it was the man didn’t seem to agree with it. He stood up quickly and
stepped in front of his companion, shielding her. He was surprisingly tall and slim. He said
something back to the guards, his face angled with the growl, as if daring them to try
something. The woman stood up, gripping his arm, and snapped something at the guard as
well. She was met with a gloved hand striking her across the face.

The male’s reaction was instantaneous. He launched himself at the guard that hit his mate,
shoving him backwards before spinning around to face her. Her hand was massaging the
sudden redness on her cheek where she’d been struck. The male brushed his finger over it
gently before he was suddenly dragged backwards by the arms. He struggled against them as
another guard went to hold the female back, putting enough force on her shoulders so her
knees buckled and struck the ground hard. The male swung and twisted viciously like a snake
until he finally found a break from the rough hands.

He stumbled forward as he tripped over his own foot and landed on his knees in front of the
distressed female. He wasted no time as his hands moved to cup her face, one thumb
brushing away a frustrated and scared tear from her cheek, before drawing her into a deep,
passionate kiss.

The kiss was cut short as the guards found their grip again on the male and pulled him
backwards, cuffing his hands together behind his back. “NO!” The microphone suddenly
picked up the female’s voice as she shouted desperately. “DOCTOR!”

Jancon suddenly felt concerned about his decision. “Does she need medical attention?” The
president just laughed.

“No, that’s what she calls him. The Doctor.”

“Was he a doctor before he came here?”

The president shrugged. “Who knows. Whatever he was or did, that’s over now. We don’t
deal with the past, Prebassador Ligtech, only the future. And his future is now you.”

There was noise coming from the staircase outside the observation room. They all turned to
watch, Jancon having to tear his eyes away from the still struggling female below. The door
opened as four guards led the male in. He wasn’t struggling anymore, but his hands were still
cuffed, immobilized, behind his back, and now he was sporting a gag. Jancon looked at the
president with a questioning quirk of his eyebrow. “Company policy.” The president
explained. “Especially this one gets a bit mouthy around authority.” Jancon looked back just
in time to see the male roll his eyes. He neither looked scared nor angry, but there was
something about him that set everyone in the room on edge. If Jancon had to bet his money –
and he had a lot of that – he’d say it was his eyes. They were both young and old and
twinkled darkly as if he knew a secret he wasn’t about to share. Knowledge simply radiated
out of those brown orbs, and Jancon couldn’t find it within him to look away.

Suddenly the man’s eyes looked away and found the glass wall overlooking the room he’d
just left. Those eyes suddenly became impossibly sad as he watched the guard toss his
companion aside. She landed on her hands and knees on the ground where she stayed, her
body shaking slightly with poorly concealed sobs. Another female slowly made her way over
as the guard left, knelt down, and wrapped one of her arms around the blond one’s shoulders,
pulling her close for comfort. Jancon was amazed to see tears glisten, unshed, in the male’s
eyes.

“His designation is MD196305, but if you decide to go through with the deal you may call
him whatever you like, of course.”

“Do I have to decide right now?”

“Of course not. We have a twenty-four hour policy in which you can make your decision
before the stock’s put back on the market. You cannot take him out with you during that time,
but you are more than welcome to stay here and get yourself acquainted. We have some
lovely guestrooms on the upper levels if you’d be interested.”

“Yes, that would be fantastic, thanks.” Jancon wasn’t looking at the president as he spoke, but
at the male, who, in turn, was staring back at him with a look of calm defiance.

“Would you like him brought to your room as well, or taken to another holding room in the
meantime?”

Jancon thought for a moment, his mind frozen by the look in the prisoner’s eyes. It was like
staring into eternity, watching the world spin and time wind. Finally he found himself able to
speak. “Yes, my room, please.”

The male was dragged back to his feet and hauled from the room carelessly. The man didn’t
seem to protest. He kept his eyes on Jancon for as long as he could, the look penetrating the
young prebassador.

“You have interesting taste, my friend.” The president said as he threw an arm around
Jancon’s shoulders like a proud father. “And, I hope, a thick wallet, because this particular
slave is not going to come out cheap.”
 Chapter 2

Six Weeks Earlier

“I can’t take you anywhere!” Rose shouted as the Doctor dragged her along by the hand.

They were flying down a rocky hill speckled with sparse blue bushes that tore at the hem of
their trousers as they ran passed. The branches snapped off as they made contact, dry as bone
from the lack of rain on this planet. The landscape was just as dry and depressing; a cracked
riverbed sat dusty and empty at the bottom of the hill and what trees were left looked ready to
crumble apart. There were no loving creatures in sight.

Except for the Doctor and Rose, of course, as well as the dozen or so natives chasing them
through the abandoned land. The Doctor shot a grin over his shoulder, reveling in the run. His
adrenaline was pulling him forward, pumping through his body and helping his long legs
cover even more ground. It was all Rose could do to keep up, her hand clasped tightly in his
as she was towed along. The sharp rocks stabbed her through the soles of her shoes and
caused her to trip and stumble quite a few times.

“What? All I did was say I liked their hats!” He called back to her as he suddenly shot to the
right, finding a more convenient path. Rose didn’t find it convenient as she was jerked
suddenly to the side.

They finally made it to the base of the hill, standing in the dry sand of what had once been a
river. There were small crevices in the riverbed that suggested small trickles of water had
recently found their way through, but there was no sign of any now. Too bad, Rose thought as
she stumbled to a halt beside the Doctor. They’d been running for a while and water sounded
absolutely wonderful at the moment.

“Yeah,” Rose finally managed to get passed her gasps for air. “And try to steal one off some
guy’s head. Which, apparently,” She stated as she pointed to the top of the hill, where the
dozen men in their funny little hats appeared over the ridge. “They didn’t like very much.”

The Doctor gave her a maniac grin and Rose couldn’t help but smile back. No, she wasn’t the
biggest fan of running around desert planets she’d never been to being chased by vicious
looking tribesmen with no idea where they’d parked the TARDIS, but she was a fan of that
grin, a grin only this Doctor could pull off without looking entirely mental. Well, maybe he
was.

“Off we go then!” He grabbed her hand again and started taking off up the riverbed. Sand
glistened in the air, kicked up by their heels, leaving behind a dust trail. They could still hear
the group of natives running down the stony hill. Rocks clacked against each other as they
were disturbed by the twenty or so feet.

They ran until they came to a bend in the river where there were a few small boulders and a
dead tree hanging over the bed. Rose collapsed onto one of the boulders and tore off her
sneaker, dumping quite a few pebbles into the sand. The Doctor had taken out his sonic
screwdriver and was now turning quickly on the spot. The sonic hummed mechanically as he
pointed it in all sorts of directions until finally the hum became an excited whine. It was
pointing further down the riverbed. “Come on!”

Rose groaned as she jumped back to her feet and tore off after the Doctor. At least she wasn’t
being stabbed by sharp rocks in her toes anymore.

They ran for a while, the sonic still help aloft, until the Doctor noticed a cloud of dusk rising
off from another one of the hills in front of them and to the right. Nervously, he glanced to
the left and saw the same thing. They were being surrounded. A few men were scaling down
the hills in front of them, searching to cut them off, while the party behind them could still be
heard.

The Doctor pulled Rose to a stop, looked around desperately, and shot off to the side, hoping
they could climb up the hill instead and catch their pursuers off-guard. He tripped, however,
on a stone half buried in the sand and landed sharply on his knee on another rock. “Agh!”
The rock had cut straight through his pinstriped pants, drawing a small but stinging line of
red blood.

Rose tried to haul him up. “On your feet, soldier!” She growled as she pulled him to his feet.
But it was too late. The man coming down on their side of the hill was now standing at the
base, looming just in front of them. The one on the other side had managed the same. They
both walked slowly over to where the Doctor and Rose stood, still glancing around
desperately for an escape. As the rest of the party appeared around the bend, there didn’t
seem to be one.

The Doctor spun around to face the obvious leader: A man with thick lines of paint criss-
crossing his exposed torso and a hat that resembled an up-side-down cactus with a string of
small bones wrapped around it like Christmas lights.

“Hello!” The Doctor said cheerfully despite his exhaustion from running for so long. . “You
must be in charge. Brilliant! I’m the Doctor, and this is Rose. Say hi, Rose.”

“Hi…” Rose’s voice was a bit higher than usual with hesitation as she twirled her fingers in a
small wave. The Doctor glanced quickly at her and she shrugged, the corner of her mouth
turned down in an unsure frown.

“Sorry about the whole hat situation, by the way, I was just looking. See, we’re kind of
tourists.” The Doctor trailed off in his usual rambling way as he turned about to the leader –

And was interrupted by a pair of spears appearing near his and Rose’s throats, except for
instead of a sharpened point there was a creature that looked like a piranha with legs
snapping at them with its long, needle-sharp teeth. “Oh, lovely.” Rose muttered sarcastically,
her voice wispy from breathing so hard.

“Right...okay…” The Doctor put his hands up in surrender and Rose followed suit.

“Tce pser sid rou yrof yaplliwuoy.” The leader growled as he moved closer to the pair.
“What did he just say?” Rose whispered frantically.

The Doctor shrugged. “Something in really primitive Drephesh. Either ‘you will pay for your
disrespect’ or ‘you will wear a tambourine dress’.”

“Funny how often those two sayings get mixed up.”

“Ekirtsl l’ ewroe cnelis!”

“Ah, that one’s easy! ‘Silence or we’ll strike! Oh…” He was so proud until he realized that
the words actually meant. WHAM! A spearhead collided sharply with his shin and the
creature at the end sank its jagged teeth into his flesh. He muffled a cry as the teeth ripped
through his skin and pulled away, leaving fifty or so deep, miniscule holes in his leg. He
instantly felt his leg starting to go numb.

He clutched onto Rose’s shoulder as he was suddenly struck by a pins-and-needles sensation.

She shot him a look that plainly said ‘Do you ever shut up?’ before returning her attention to
the man with the spear to her own neck. He shouted something at her again she couldn’t quite
understand. “Yes, okay, we come in peace.” She said slowly as she kept her hands raised. The
man didn’t seem to care as he went to strike her, too.

Then suddenly there was a quick whisper of air and a definite thud as something struck the
spear holder in the jugular. His hand rose to the spot, surprised, and pulled away a very hi-
tech-looking tranquilizer dart. He only just had time to register what had happened before he
pitched forward, unconscious as he hit the ground.

Both Rose and the Doctor stood frozen, stunned, as another dart came flying out of nowhere
and struck the leader in the neck, bringing him down as well. The rest of the Drephesh spun
around, spears aimed in the direction the darts had come from, as the Doctor grabbed Rose
and brought her to the ground, shielding her as a storm of the tranquilizers suddenly rained
down on them. Drephesh fell where they stood, clutching at their throats. Each aim was
pitch-perfect.

Finally the last Drephesh fell and the Doctor dared to look around. Something was making its
way down one of the hills, churning up dust. It looked like the offspring of a small tank and a
golf cart – a bizarre combination to look at as it didn’t seem to make any sense at all – with a
man hanging out of the top hatch, a sniper-like-gun in hand. And it was aimed directly at the
Doctor and Rose.

“Pull up!” The man shouted down into the interior of the tank-cart as they got closer. He was
wearing a piece of cloth tied around the lower half of his face to protect him from the dust
and dark tinted sunglasses, so his features were almost totally obscured. The tank-cart
rumbled to a halt in front of Rose and the Doctor, who was pulling his companion back to her
feet, dusting sand off his beige coat. The ‘sniper’ had disappeared back into the interior, but
only a moment passed before the side door was thrown open and out jumped four men, all
similarly dressed with something protecting their mouths and noses from the kick-up.

At first they seemed to ignore the two strangers standing, warily, at the center of a circle of
unconscious natives. They began to prowl the area, occasionally nudging the Drephesh with
the butt of their guns. “Yep, they’re all gonna be getting a good night’s sleep.” One shouted to
the rest. He reached up and pulled the patterned cloth down his face so it rested like a scarf
around his neck before he began to make his way towards then Doctor, not caring about
stepping on any of the fallen Drephesh.

The Doctor tried to run a hand casually through his now dusty hair. He was still leaning
lightly on Rose as the feeling kept vanishing from his injured leg. “Well, thanks…I guess.
Not saying I particularly support your means, but good timing nonetheless.”

“Be quiet.” The man snapped as he observed them.

The Doctor closed his mouth and frowned thoughtfully. “Rose, didn’t we just go through this
with –”SMACK! “Oww! What was that for?” He was rubbing on a new red spot on his cheek
from where the man had smacked him, hard, across the face.

“I said, shut up!” Rose elbowed the Doctor sharply in the ribs as the man pulled some sort of
communication device out of one of the many pockets on his cargo vest.

“Oh-ho! What have we here?” Another one called out. His hair was long and light blond,
contrasting sharply with his black skin as he pulled it out of its short pony-tail. He moved in
uncomfortably close to Rose, who tensed and leaned away into the Time Lord’s chest. The
Doctor’s instincts suddenly started wailing at him and he slowly but pointedly pulled Rose
away from the man protectively. Blondie raised an eyebrow and stepped up close to the
Doctor, toe-to-toe, licking his lower lip threateningly. “Got a problem, slave-boy?” He asked
in a dangerously low voice.

The Doctor frowned with confusion. “What? –”

“Cap, all clear here.” The first man called into the radio. The Doctor turned slightly to see
that they were surrounded by the four new arrivals, and something about them told the
Doctor he should be more worried than he had been with the dozen Drephesh. He pulled
Rose even closer as light static and an indiscernible voice sounded through the radio.
“Negative, Cap. We’ve got two spare. Bringing them in now.”

Now the voice managed to cackle its way to the Doctor’s ears. “Drephies?” Another male
voice asked.

The Doctor and Rose were eyed carefully by the man before he responded. “No, they don’t
look native. Our scanner’s back at base, we’ll radio if they’re useful.”

The radio clicked out as it was returned to the man’s pocket. The Doctor watched him cagily,
wondering if he should make a run for it. Could he make a run for it? The leg that had been
bitten had now pretty much completely lost its feeling and he doubted he would be able to
make it support him running at the moment. And he didn’t want to risk it with Rose.

The radio-man didn’t look up as he made the order. “Bag them.”

“Now, wait a min –”

The Doctor was cut off harshly as Blondie drove his fist into the Doctor’s solar plexus. The
Doctor immediately doubled over, the air rushing suddenly out of his lungs. He gasped for it
desperately but none came.

“Doctor!” Rose shouted, but she too was cut off as a bag was thrown over her head. She was
dragged backwards by one of the men, tripping over a stone as her feet fumbled to find keep.
The Doctor tried to follow, but the muscles in his stomach were still spasming, oxygen still
deprived of him. Suddenly a bag was thrown over his head as well, cutting off his vision and
throwing him into complete darkness. A string tightened painfully around his neck, too taut
for comfort for his still struggling lungs. He tried to fight off the hands grabbing at his
shoulders, pulling his arms down behind his back, but was met with another blow, this time to
the jaw. Stunned, he fell limp for a moment, and it was all the men needed.

Something cold, metal, and hard were suddenly securing his wrists. He was dragged
sideways, his one uninjured leg working to find purchase in the soft sand floor. No matter
how he tried sinking his feet into the ground, however, the two men pulling him along were
much stronger.

Finally he was pushed forward, the hands releasing him. His shins hit something hard and
unyielding. The bumper of a vehicle. The impact sent searing pain through his already
damaged shin. He groaned as he collapsed forward, the side of his head striking the metal
floor of the tank-cart’s rear end. His legs, which still hung halfway out the hatch, were kicked
unceremoniously into the vehicle, and before the Doctor could get his bearings back the door
was slammed shut, followed by a similar, muffled sound from up front. The tank-cart
suddenly lurched forward and the Doctor was thrown backwards, his head colliding with the
hard side of the trunk, and he was thrown into an even deeper darkness than the blinder-bag
had offered.
 Chapter 3

The Doctor wasn’t sure if his eyes had finally opened or not; everything was the same level
of blackness. He groaned as the ground suddenly jolted, his head hitting the metal wall of the
tank-cart again and causing it to pound painfully. He tried to shift away from the wall but
something was leaning against his side, lightly pinning him in place. The Doctor squirmed to
try to shift away from it when suddenly it moved, too.

“Doctor?”

He frowned slightly as he recognized the scared voice. “Rose?” He sat up a little straighter as
what he assumed had been her body shifted away from his. His head pounded in protest to
the movement. “How long was I out?” He moaned.

Rose sighed, obviously relieved he was awake again. “Not long. Maybe fifteen minutes?”
The Doctor’s internal Time Lord clock finally kicked back into gear, telling him he’d been
unconscious for exactly seventeen minutes and forty-three seconds.

The Doctor heaved a sigh as he twisted his arms a bit, feeling the cool metal of handcuffs
pressing into the skin on his wrists. “Are you okay?” He asked urgently.

“Yeah, I’m fine.” She leaned back against his side as she spoke, resting her bagged head on
his shoulder. “I was more worried about you, actually.” There was a pause in which the
Doctor gave a small laugh. Of course she would always be worrying about him. The two of
them were quickly becoming the universe’s biggest and more careless worry-warts for each
other. “Doctor, what’s going on?”

He shrugged and instantly felt bad as it jostled her head. “I dunno. But judging by the
handcuffs and the blinder-bags, I have a feeling they’re not just asking us around for tea.
Whoever ‘they’ are.”

“Yeah, unless they’ve got one hell of a fetish.” Rose sighed.

“You know, I’d really rather not think about it that way, thanks.” He grunted as he continued
to try to wiggle free from the cuffs. “Are your hands tied, too?”

“Yeah. Why?”

The Doctor shifted around again, but the metal cuffs weren’t going to budge. “See if you can
get into my pocket at grab my sonic for me.” He felt Rose move closer, felt her bound hands
move clumsily down his chest towards his leg, searching for a pocket. The Doctor gasped as
her fingers unknowingly strayed a little too far. “No, sorry, more to the left.” He squeaked
quickly, silently glad she couldn’t see how red his face felt.

Finally her fingers found the fold of the pocket and awkwardly managed to pull the sonic
screwdriver out by its tip. She sighed with relief. “Got it!”
“Good, now pass it here?” They attempted the trade uneasily, both their hands held in those
really unhelpful positions, but finally the Doctor twirled the familiar device over in his hand,
feeling the comfortable touch of the settings and buttons. He carefully adjusted them,
straining his ears to hear the right quiet frequency. After a minute or two he found it and,
pressing harder on the switch, let the whirling of the sonic at work fill the area until the cuffs
clicked cleanly off. “Ah, much better!” He exclaimed as he pulled his hands around to
massage the blood flow back into through his wrists before tearing off the blinder-bag.

The trunk of the tank-cart was much smaller than he’d been expecting. It was completely
sealed off; no windows and only one door with no handle from the inside. Just four brown
metal walls and a matching floor and ceiling with a small vent letting in a couple small slits
of light. Not very exciting to look at, but purposefully bleak and daunting.

Next he pulled the bag off Rose’s head. She squinted at the sudden light and shook her
blonde hair out of her face before tossing a grin at the Doctor. “‘ello.”

“’ello yourself. Turn over so I can get your hands.” Rose complied, though it was a struggle
in such a tight place. The trunk was only about four feet wide and three feet tall, and the
rough movements of the vehicle were not helping them find any semblance of balance as they
tried to rearrange themselves. Finally Rose’s bound hands were within range and the Doctor
quickly went to work on them.

He shook the sonic as it took a few tries to catch on and ended up having to readjust the
settings, having accidentally changed them in the process of moving around. “Ah, there we
go.” He exclaimed as he found the right frequency once again.

But just then the tank-cart rumbled to a stop, throwing Rose and the Doctor to the side. They
exchanged worried glances as they heard car doors open and then close harshly. Heavy
footsteps, lots of them, moved around the car.

The Doctor got back to work, ears straining to hear what was going on outside as the sonic
whirled Rose’s hands free. The cuffs had just clicked off, Rose holding onto her swollen
wrists, when suddenly the trunk of the tank-cart was thrown open. The Doctor just hand
enough time to jam the screwdriver back up his shirt sleeve before he was blinded by the
sudden light outside. The ruthless desert sun reflected painfully off the industrial walls of
what the Doctor thought looked regrettably like a prison mixed with a military compound.
Rose had turned her head away completely, crying out as her retinas were seared. The Doctor
only just managed to keep his eyes open, but everything appeared as shadowy silhouettes
against the brightness of the sun.

Hands grabbed the Doctor around the wrist and yanked him viciously out of the trunk. He
stumbled but was held up by Blondie, who was laughing quietly to himself unpleasantly.
“Clever little git, aren’t you?” He commented as he yanked the Doctor’s arm and twisted it
painfully behind his back until the Doctor couldn’t move without dislocating his shoulder. He
felt the sonic slid up towards his elbow.

Rose was being pulled out of the tank now, too, and the men were no less gentle about it. She
fell to one knee as the movement proved too quick for her to follow. A couple men chuckled.
“This one like being on her knees!” One taunted to a chorus of more laughter.
“Yeah? Well we’ll see who’s on their knees after I’m through with ya!” Rose growled back
but was quickly silenced by a warning look from the Doctor. His eyes had finally adjusted
properly and now he could see they were standing in the middle of a sandy courtyard filled
with none too friendly looking men in uniform, glowering and smirking threateningly from
their posts. A couple more vehicles, identical to the one they’d been shoved into, sat in one of
the corners. The walls surrounding them on all four sides were made of sunburned metal,
smooth and tall, with only one large guarded door leading to the outside world. From just one
quick scan the Doctor could tell getting out of this one would be no easy feat.

Not to mention the dread that settled deep in his stomach as he noticed a group of men
striding casually over, their eyes curious and hungry as they fell on the new arrivals. Blondie
had managed to produce another pair of handcuffs and secured the Doctor again before
kicking him hard in the back of the knee. With a groan, the Doctor collapsed involuntarily,
thankful that the sand was soft where his knees struck the ground. More laughter.

“Who are they, then?” One of the new arrivals asked as another one approached the Doctor,
ruffling his hair and taking care to pull on it sharply.

“Oi, do you mind?” The Doctor growled indignantly, trying to shake the hand off. “I worked
hard on that wind-swept look.”

The man purred menacingly. “Oh he’s pretty. I already like this one.”

“Back off, Collins, we’re not keeping them.” Blondie grinded. “We’re supposed to bring
them to the Cap.” Collins snorted at this.

“Ren doesn’t give a ‘flying fuck’, as he’d say, about slaves. Just keep them here, Guide
knows we could use some help and fun around this damn place.”

“Okay, I’m sorry, but you keep saying ‘slaves’, and I’m starting to wonder if you mean –”
The Doctor tried to interject but Blondie quickly kneed him in the back, shutting him up with
the one strike to the spine. The Doctor coughed as the shock from the impact jarred through
him.

“Collins, you know the rules. If Eyal found out we’re keeping stock from them they’d roast
us. But if you want to buy him off them, than by all means.” He suddenly pushed the Doctor
forward into Collins, who shoved him back viciously.

“He’s scrawny. Not worth Eyal’s ridiculous pricing.” Was the bitter and slightly reluctant
reply. Blondie sneered and hauled the Doctor to his feet once again. “Walk.” He ordered.
“I’m not dragging you all the way in.”

“Wasn’t going to make you.” The Doctor mumbled as he found his footing. He was really
starting to not like the potential of this situation but decided to play along anyway for the
time being. Maybe this whole unfortunate turn of events was just some kind of
misunderstanding. He could sort it out once he met with this ‘Cap’, he was sure.

“Hey, listen!” Rose spoke up as she, too, was pulled up by the elbows and shoved forward
into a walk. “We’re not slaves or anything. You can’t just haul us away like that.” Her voice
sounded brave, but as one of the men stepped up closer her footsteps faltered as she tried to
shrink discretely away.

“I wouldn’t start drawing attention to yourself, little girl. A word to the wise.” The man
tucked a stray strand of blonde hair behind her ear, a sick smile on his face.

“Stop it.” The Doctor hissed as threateningly as he dared.

The man didn’t turn his sick smile to the Doctor as he scowled. “Make me.”

“Listen, just uncuff us and let’s talk. I’m sure there’s been some sort of mistake –”

“Your mistake was talking back to me.” The man pulled something long and thin from the
loops of his utility belt – something that looked dangerously like a modified cattle prod – and
the Doctor only just had time to think that before he felt a horrible stabbing sensation in his
shoulder, followed almost immediately by every muscle in his body seizing with pain. He
couldn’t stop the shout of pain and surprise that forced its way out of his throat. As quickly as
the pain had arrived, it vanished, leaving the Doctor shaking with the residual electricity and
gasping for air.

“STOP!” He heard Rose shout, and through the thin layer of pained tears clouding his eyes he
saw her struggling against the hold of the man behind her. The Doctor tried to catch her eye,
shaking his head in admonition as he pulled himself back to his feet (apparently his knees had
given out from the force of the electricity.) His pant legs were now covered with sand and
dust.

“Now move.” The Doctor complied, not wishing to feel the stab of the cattle prod again.
While he could certainly withstand higher levels of electricity than that, it didn’t make the
experience any less painful. And he didn’t want Rose to do anything stupid either until he’d
figured out what these people want.

Rose was shoved along beside him and when he caught her eye again he tried to give her a
comforting smile. She tried valiantly and unsuccessfully to return it, mouthing “You okay?”
The Doctor just nodded and kept walking.

They were being directed towards one of the metal doors set into the courtyard wall. The
Doctor sighed in relief as they crossed the line into the shadow thrown out by the building,
amazed by the vast difference in temperature from one step to the next. It was nice to finally
be out of the sun – he cringed at the thought of staying out in that heat for too long and
surprisingly felt pity for the men forced to stand guard outside in full uniform and fatigues.

The door hissed open as they approached and they were all suddenly hit by a wall of cool air.
They no longer needed coaxing to go inside; the promise of air conditioning and an escape
from the sun was too enticing.

Inside the base was designed much like a military spacecraft or one of those space stations
built from a kit. The Doctor couldn’t help but roll his eyes at the lack of creativity while Rose
fought off the nagging feeling that the place reminded her a little too much of that impossible
planet, Krop Tor, where she’d almost lost the Doctor to the devil. Except this time she was
feeling far more like the ood…

They were led up a set of stairs and across a grated catwalk. “Grayson, go get the scanner.”
Blondie ordered to another member of their armed guard as he directed the Doctor towards an
enclosed room lined with doors, all accessorized with password keypads. Grayson, the
smallest and youngest looking of the group, ran quickly off through one of the doors, pausing
to enter a 5-digit password, only to return seconds later trailing someone else, head bent as if
in guilt.

The man that was leading him was tall and imposing with long unkempt hair and tamed
stubble along his jaw. He carried with him an air of indifference as he approached the group,
who had been pulled to a stop. His grey-blue eyes held fast on Blondie. “I thought you were
going out on a cleanse.” He stated detachedly. His accent sounded strangely American and
defined alongside the jumble of different accents surrounding them. He spared a glance at the
Doctor and Rose before retuning to Blondie. “So…explain them? They’re obviously not
Drephies.”

“Nah, Captain Ren, found them at the butt of the hunt, thought they could score an interesting
price with Eyal. See?” Blondie grabbed a handful of the Doctor’s hair and pulled back so the
was forced to look up at ‘Cap’. “They’re pretty, huh? Clever, too, I think.”

Ren looked them up and down, his features not giving anything away but disinterest. “I don’t
deal in the slave trade. Just dispose of them.”

The Doctor blanched at the abruptness of the order, at the cool, uncaring way Ren said those
words. He heard Blondie sigh and begin to drag him away again, but this time he started to
struggle. “Wait, wait, wait, I’m sure we can come up with something else.” The Doctor tried
to smile charmingly. It didn’t seem to effect Ren, who kept up he’s steely gaze. “Personally,
we wouldn’t be completely against just letting us go.”

“No, not at all.” Rose chimed in, also starting to wiggle against the hands trying to pull her
back down the hall.

“In fact I’d go so far as to say that’s the best option, don’t you think?” The words had hardly
left the Doctor’s mouth when he suddenly felt the bite of the cattle prod once more. This time
he managed to stay on his feet, but he couldn’t quite stop the cry of pain from escaping his
lips. As the pain subsided he turned to find Blondie holding the stick-of-doom this time.
“What was that for?” He growled.

“You’re talking.” Blondie said simply. “I don’t like it.”

“Scan them.”

Ren didn’t take his gaze off Rose as he dished out the new order. His eyes, which had been so
impartial earlier, were suddenly sparkling with something new, something akin to recognition
and disbelief…and infatuation. It was as if this were the first time he’d actually seen the
blond girl in front of him.
The Doctor saw young Grayson glance quickly between Ren and Blondie, as if waiting for a
contradicting order, before pulling out the scanner. He aimed it first at the Doctor like a price
gun at a grocery store and waited. Beep, Beep, Beep. He looked at the readout on the screen,
frowning. “Species Unknown.” He read out loud.

“Our scanner’s outdated, Eyal will have a broad-range one.” Blondie tried arguing.

“Do her.” Ren cut across him as he stepped closer to Rose. Sensing something was wrong,
Rose took an unsteady step backwards only to be stopped by the chest of the man behind her.
Grayson turned the instrument to her and only had to wait a seconds before it beeped loudly.
“Human.” He read off, voice tinged slightly with surprise.

Ren’s eyes suddenly blazed and a smile crept onto his lips. “Of course…” He whispered
before realizing everyone else in the room was watching him. The Doctor hated the feeling
creeping up inside him, his instincts screaming at him to keep Rose away from this man, but
as he began to pull away from his captor he felt the edge of the cattle prod press against his
arm warningly.

Ren cleared his throat lightly as he stepped even closer to Rose, trying to stare into her eyes.
She pointedly glared back, daring him to come any closer, but her glare melted into panic as
he suddenly reached for her, his thumb running down her jaw line curiously, fingers lingering
too close to her exposed throat. Rose shivered.

“Get away from her.” The Doctor snarled seeing her discomfort. Anger was slowly welling
up inside him, but he couldn’t stop the way Ren caressed Rose’s cheek gently, almost
caringly.

“Exquisite creatures, humans…” Ren was whispering, more so to himself even though
everyone else was listening intently anyway. “So rare…”

He was snapped out of his trance by Blondie chuckling softly. “So the Cap finally has an
interest in something other than the rules. Considering bending them for once, Cap? We
could all use the extra bonus…” He suggested hopefully.

“Hold on, let’s all go back to the whole ‘letting them go’ part of the conversation.” The
Doctor proposed but was interrupted by Ren ordering “Silence him” and another painful stab
from the cattle prod. It was held against his lower back longer than either of the first times.
He crashed down, twitching from the electricity ripping through him. Every muscle seized
uncontrollably. For a second he couldn’t tell if he had screamed out this time or not until the
pressure of the prod was finally removed and he heard the tail end of his own shout dying in
the air. He sat kneeling on the ground now, panting, occasionally jolting as his body fought
for control of his own muscles again. He was, effectively, silenced.

Rose, however, was not. “Leave him alone!” She shouted desperately, but her attention was
quickly drawn back to Ren as he began running his hand through her hair, untangling a few
knots roughly with his fingers. She whimpered slightly as he took another step towards her,
their bodies practically touching, sandwiched between Ren and the man behind her.
“Maybe we could keep them around for a little while.” He hummed distractedly as he
continued to stare hungrily at Rose. The Doctor tried to argue, but what he thought were
words instead came out as a groan as his body spasmed again. He could practically feel
Blondie’s excitement at Ren’s words.

“Great!” He exclaimed, dragging the Doctor up and having to half support him this time. “I’ll
take them to the holding units!” He began to start walking away when Ren held up a hand,
stopping them. His ravenous eyes were still bearing into Rose’s, which had quickly become
bright with dread, though they still fought for their usual self-assuredness.

After an agonizingly long moment of silence Ren finally said, “Just him. I’d like to get to
know this one a little bit better.” He was still stroking Rose’s hair as she tried to squirm away
unsuccessfully.

The Doctor began to fight against Blondie’s hands again without effect. “No.” Came his
feebly gasp as the rest of the men sniggered darkly, exchanging knowing glances with one
another. Rose started struggling even more now, the meaning of what they were saying not
lost on her, but there was nothing she could do. Two men were now holding onto her, one on
each arm, still smirking as they towed her backwards. She fought with everything she had,
her legs kicking out as the men lugged her along, hardly even acknowledging her struggles.
“No!” She shouted. “Put me down! Stop! Doctor!”

“ROSE!” He yelled, wrestle against Blondie and the other man’s hold. He proved to be more
of a fight but they managed to control him, even with his flying elbows and heels. “NO!
Leave her ALONE!”

“To my quarters, please.” Ren commanded, the first hint of a simper on his face that made the
Doctor’s blood boil. His hearts pounded desperately as adrenaline seeped into his system,
causing his ears to ring. It was no use though as Blondie brought the cattle prod back around
and jammed it against the Doctor’s ribcage, right beside his left heart. The pain was instant
and intense and he immediately collapsed, his body going ridged and then limp and then
ridge again in a matter of seconds as the electricity continued to course through him.

The current was finally cut off as the prod was removed from his side. Tears were streaming
down his face from the pain and desperation. He only just managed to clear his eyes enough
and look up from his huddled position on the floor to see Rose being hauled bodily away,
shouting and writhing against the arms dragging her through the door, away from the Doctor.
The last thing he saw was her frantic, terrified face as the door swung shut behind them, his
name shouted from her lips cut off as the door hit the doorframe with a definite audible bang.
 Chapter 4

Rose was still fighting by the time they reached the Captain’s quarters, despite the slap she’d
received and the daunting threats growled in her ears. She shouted for the Doctor, though she
doubted he could hear her from his distance, and even began to wonder if he was conscious at
all. They had held that cattle prod to his side for far longer than necessary, dragging his
torment on until what would have been any normal human’s breaking point. Rose’s eyes were
burning with the strain of holding back tears by the time the 5-digit code was entered into
another door and she was deposited carelessly into the new room.

She stumbled at first before regaining her feet and instantly charged back at the open door.
The men easily grabbed her again by each elbow and dragged her further into the room until
she was backed up against a large wooden desk. Her hands, still hand cuffed behind her,
strained to find anything useful on the desk within reach – a letter opener, scissors, a pen –
anything! But her fingers found nothing but smooth wood and a few sheets of loose paper.

One of the men – rat-faced and scraggily – leaned in close, sniffing her hair with his long,
pointed nose. “Just keep fightin’, poppet, it’s getting me all excited.” He was so close Rose
could actually feel him and she immediately stopped struggling, refraining from giving him
what he wanted. He didn’t seem to mind as her grabbed her roughly beneath the chin and
forced his lips onto hers. She quickly clamped them shut, refusing to grant access to his
prying tongue, but suddenly he grabbed her – grabbed her between the legs – and her mouth
flew open in surprise. He took his chance and plunged his tongue deep into her mouth. And
she bit down. Hard.

“AGH!” The man reeled backwards, hand flying to his bleeding mouth. He glared at Rose
with such rage it looked as though he might actually explode. She could taste his coppery
blood on her own tongue, tangy and metallic. She pressed herself against the desk, suddenly
realizing she had no where to go as the man took a threatening step forward, hand raised.

“Leave us.” Rose looked up quickly to see the captain striding through the door, pulling off
his coat and tossing it on an empty nearby chair. The rat-faced man instantly stopped. He was
panting as if he’d just run a mile.

“You sure you don’t want some help, sir?” He asked without taking his eyes off Rose. “She’s
tough.”

The captain just laughed. “I think I can handle a little human girl. Now out.” Grudgingly Rat-
face and the other man turned and left, Ratty shooting Rose one last look of anger and the
threat of a promise before the door closed behind him. Now Rose could focus all her
attention on Cap…and he could focus all his attention on her.

Rose strained against the handcuffs again, feeling the metal finally bite through her skin. Ren
ran a hand through his hair, exhaling loudly as he approached her. Suddenly, standing alone
with him, he didn’t seem so threatening. He reached for a large bottle of auburn liquid next to
a jug of water on one of the side tables and lifted it in Rose’s direction. “Want a drink?”
When she didn’t respond he poured two glasses anyway and took a great sip from his own.
He walked around the side of the desk, pulled something from one of the draws, and took
hold of one of Rose’s forearms. She flinched at the unexpected contact, waiting for the worst,
but then she felt a tug on her restraints, heard a definite click, and suddenly the handcuffs fell
away from her wrists. She quickly pulled them to her lap, massaging the blood flow back to
her fingers.

Ren held out the glass to her and this time she took it but didn’t raise it to her lips. He came
back around to face Rose while asking, “Are you hurt?”

“Where’s the Doctor?” Came her quick reply. Ren frowned.

“Who?”

“The man you kidnapped me with and will be selling into slavery apparently.” She didn’t
even try to keep the venom out of her voice.

Ren took a sip from his glass. “Oh, yes. He’s been moved to one of the lower holding cells.
He’ll be fine.”

Rose snorted in disbelief. “Right, and how many volts of electricity did you have your goons
send through him?”

There was a moment of silence as Ren stared at her, his stony, masked expression back on his
face. “Enough to keep him out of trouble. For now. Drink.” Rose took the smallest sip she
could and tried not to wince as the surprisingly dry liquid burned all the way down her throat.
She could feel her body temperature rise as it hit her stomach and started to ooze into her
bloodstream. That stuff was strong.

“What’s your name?”

“Rose…”

“So – Rose – is it true?”

“You’re going to have to be more specific than that.” Rose gasped through the alcohol burn.

“Your scan…You’re really human?”

“Yeah, what of it?” As soon as she said it she watched Ren’s mask crumble away and a look
of pure happiness took over his face. Suddenly he stood, dropping his half empty glass
roughly on the table, and threw his arms around her. Rose tensed, not sure what he was going
to do, and then she heard him laughing softly near her ear. His whole body shook with it.

“I was so sure I’d never see another human again.” He was saying into her hair. “God, I was
so alone…”

Rose tried her hardest not to squirm away from his hold. “I don’t understand? What are you
talking about?”
“You haven’t noticed yet?” He asked as he finally pulled away, release her from his embrace.
“Rose, we’re not speaking Drephesh anymore…we’re speaking English, both our native
language if I’m right?”

Rose suddenly realized the TARDIS wasn’t translating for her anymore. “You’re – you’re
from earth?” She couldn’t see it, couldn’t believe him. The Drephesh may look incredibly
human, but their distinguishable orange eyes and slight ridges on their noses, like a dog
snarling, showed the difference. She began to shake her head, not falling for whatever trick
he might be playing, when he reached up and fished something out of his eye. An orange
colored contact. Beneath them his eyes were a piercing pale blue. He then tore off a the flesh
colored strip over his nose that had formed the ridges, like a theatre costume prop, and before
Rose stood a human.

“It’s been ten years since I’d seen another human being.” He was saying. “I thought I’d never
see one again. They don’t come out this far.”

“Then how’d you get here?” Rose felt herself relaxing a little bit. He was human, like her. He
had taken off her restraints. He’d offered her a drink. He wasn’t hurting her…yet.

“I was part of a science expedition.” He said, taking another sip before setting the glass down
again. “Deep space exploration looking for the source of an atmospheric phenomenon
happening in our solar system. We were supposed to go far…but never this far.

“Our ship experienced a full electrical shortage on the outer border of the Sirenian System –
well, when I say ‘shortage’ I mean complete systems failure. We couldn’t even put in the
coordinates to turn around. Protocol says that in the event of a shortage the ship latches on to
the closest recorded planet or moon, but it was such a failure even that wasn’t working. The
ship just kept going forward with no destination or anything stopping it. There was nothing
the crew could do.” His voice didn’t waiver as he said this, showing no signs of being
haunted by the memory. He had accepted his isolation long ago. “Eventually the oxygen
began to run out and the crew began to drop. It was by some miracle we happened to be in a
collision course with this planet by the time the oxygen meter was reading near zero. But by
the time we came through the atmosphere and realized the air here was breathable, the others
had either died or were in an oxygen deprived coma, brain dead. Thank God my dad forced
me into joining a swim team.” He laughed slightly. “I managed to hold my breath long
enough to navigate in and land. But everyone else was gone.”

“I’m…so sorry.” Rose whispered. “But then how – how did you end up here? Pretending
you’re Drephesh?”

He snorted at the question.

“Yeah, it’s exhausting pretending to be one of them, but I do it. Because I want to survive,
and one doesn’t do that here without being Drephesh. This planet has the worst racial
cleansing problem I’ve ever seen. It makes the holocaust look like Hitler playing with a
couple toy soldiers. Their moral compass doesn’t exactly point due north. And humans are so
incredibly rare out here; I would have been sold in an instant if I didn’t think fast, and not to
someone very pleasant.”
“Oh, like you’re going to do to me?” Rose spat back, all sympathy for him instantly
evaporating.

“No.” He replied quickly, his voice hardened with determination. “Not you. Not anyone
anymore.”

“That’s not what I heard back there as you were torturing my friend.”

“I didn’t touch him! I only have so much control over my team, and we all answer to Eyal.”

“And who the bloody hell is Eyal?” Her voice was rising and she had to force herself to keep
it in check.

“Eyal’s not a who. It’s a company that pretty much runs this entire planet, even though most
of it is completely underground and illegal. Capitalism at its finest.” He growled. “They
control the outpost teams, like this one, and are the leaders in ‘cleansing’, but more
importantly for this conversation they are the leading provider for the slave trade and demand
that everything not native or modern Drephesh be turned in.”

“And you work for them and you’re asking for my sympathy and understanding?” Her
eyebrows shot up in absolute disbelief and disgust at what he was saying. A slave trade…and
they were about to become a part of it.

“I did what I had to survive!” Ren shot back. “I adapted to the situation. And that’s the truth
about the human race, so you’d better learn to accept it. It might not be pretty but it’s gotten
us through a lot of shit in our history.” He didn’t even try to keep his rising voice in check
and suddenly Rose could see his desperation for someone to tell him it was okay, that what
he’s done is forgivable. It wasn’t going to be Rose.

“So you’ve adapted! Congratulations! And now you’re turning two innocent people over to
be slaves. And how is this stopping me from being turned in again?”

Ren finished his drink in one giant gulp. Rose almost winced just thinking about that amount
of liquid burning down his throat. He gasped and coughed. “I –” Cough. “I said we’ll keep
you around. I had no intention of contacting Eyal about either of you, I just said that to keep
the team off my scent and give us time to figure out how we’re going to get you out of here.”

Rose raised her eyebrows in surprise. She hadn’t been expecting that. “You’re…you’re going
to help us escape?”

“Under one condition.” Ren nodded. “You need to help me escape, too. How’d you get here?
Spaceship?” Rose shrugged – would she call the TARDIS a real spaceship? – but nodded
anyway. “Just give me your word you’ll take me back to Earth with you, and I’ll find a way
to get you and your mate out before Eyal gets any the wiser.”

“He’s not my mate, he’s just…a friend.” She found herself muttering before clearing her
throat. “Uh…yeah, of course. I just – I need to talk to him. Make sure he’s okay before I
make any promises.”
Ren stood quickly. She could see he excitement trying to break through his mask at the idea
of finally going home. “Of course. Unfortunately I can’t make any guarantees that the boys
will go easy on you or your…friend. They’re pretty rough boys, the bully type, but I’ll try my
best to hold them back.”

“Thanks. Can I go now?” Rose was eager to get back to the Doctor and tell him what had
happened, to reassure him that she was okay and make sure he was as well. She hadn’t
decided yet if she really trusted this Captain Ren and she needed the Doctor’s opinion.

“Right, yes. But…I’m sorry, there will be someone right outside waiting to escort you to the
cell…we have to make it look realistic…” It took Rose a moment to realize what he was
saying. He indicated her hair and face. “They need to still think I’m one of them.”

“Oh!” Rose reached up and ruffled her hair, messing it up and making it look as ridiculous as
possible. Ren brought the water pitcher over, dipped his finger in it, and – after looking at
Rose for approval – gently rubbed it in under her eyes, creating smears of mascara that
looked convincingly like tear tracks. After a deep breath to prepare herself, Rose tore the top
button off her blouse, which had been one of her favorites, and unbuttoned one in the middle,
form a look of one who’d dressed too hastily. With a whisper of an apology Ren replaced the
cuffs on her wrists. At least the bruises that had already formed there would be realistic.

“Ready?” He asked once they were done. Rose nodded, trying to make her eyes look as
watery as possible. She’d never been able to cry on command during her school productions;
now she wished she taken the time to learn. Ren marched her towards the door, threw it open,
and quickly tossed her outside into the surprised – and uncomfortable – arms of rat-face, who
snickered as she stumble again. “Bring her back to the cell. Keep them together. And don’t
touch her…she’s mine.” He growled the order with such authority Rose could practically feel
rat-face deflate with disappointment. For what it was worth, Ren was truly a surprisingly
good actor.

The door slammed shut behind him and Rat-face started marching her away, Rose trying her
best to look shaken and defeated. It must have worked for it wasn’t long before Rat-face put
his long nose in her hair to whisper, “Not so outspoken now, are we? Captain put you in your
place? It’s too bad, really, that I respect the Cap so much, otherwise I wouldn’t mind helping
you stay in your place, pretty.”

Rose shivered, this time not needing to act. She flinched away violently as Rat-face planted a
kiss on her cheek before shoving her down the hall again, forcing her to walk in front of him.
They passed more and more men, all of them watching at leering at Rose as she passed. A
few shot off catcalls, others were satisfied to simply smirk at her knowingly. There were so
many of them. Whether she completely trusted him or not, Rose was just happy now to be
able to easily fool herself into thinking there was someone here on her side.
 Chapter 5

They had zapped him three more times on the walk down to the containment cells: One for
yelling for Rose again, one for stumbling, and the other because it had been a whole floor
since the last time they’d brought the cattle prod down on him. By the time they reached the
cells far beneath the surface of the hot desert sand, the Doctor was a mess. He couldn’t stand
on his own. Two guards had to hold him up and drag him by the arms as he continued to
twitch from the lingering stabs of electricity.

They stopped in front of the cell door and removed his restraints before Blondie pressed the
tip of the prod one more time against the nape of the Doctor’s neck. A strangled scream
escaped him as he fell to his knees, his back trying to arch away from the current. The
pressure was drawn away a few seconds later and a boot collided with his lower back,
kicking him into the cell where he fell face-first to the ground. He only just had time to raise
one of his shaking limbs to break the fall instead of his nose. There were snickers and the
clang of a door slamming shut.

The Doctor twisted onto his side, moaning as he felt the volts still loitering in his muscles. He
tried to breath but his lungs seemed incapable of remembering how. He rolled onto his back,
panting and gasping for air, willing the pain to go away. He could handle electricity, but that
much in such quick succession?

His body curved off the ground as another spike of pain laced through him. He tried to muffle
the cry, which came out as more of a gasping groan than anything else. He heard more
sniggers and managed to pry his eyes open just enough to see Blondie still leaning against the
bars by the door, casually watching the Doctor squirm. He winked, twirled the cattle prod
around his finger like some ‘hero’ in a western movie, and sauntered off, leaving the Doctor
alone.

Now he could see the details of his cell – and there actually weren’t many details to see.
Three walls were made of solid metal, the fourth contrived of thick bars and a heavy, locked
door. There was a sink and a metal slab sticking out of one of the walls with a thin mattress
on it the Doctor couldn’t believe would make much of a difference. But still, it was a little
comfort in this time of pain, and he was so, so tired. He rolled over onto his stomach and
army crawled over to the cot. The process was agonizingly slow, and when he finally did
reach the side of the bed he found his legs were too numb to support him to get on. He tried
pulling himself up, using what strength was left in his arms, but it wasn’t enough to lift his
whole body. After a few minutes of trying he finally collapsed back to the floor, panting, and
decided the ground was better than nothing.

Rose was out there somewhere. His Rose. His precious Rose who he’d promised to protect
and keep safe. He couldn’t fool himself into believing she was just getting a tour of the
facility, but he wished he could. Every seconds that ticked by was emotional agony as his
mind involuntarily began to imagine everything that could be happening. He felt sick. His
stomach rolled at the thoughts, but there was nothing in there to expel, so he curled up around
himself instead and pressed his shaking arms into this abdomen. He felt the sonic screwdriver
slide down his sleeve and land in the palm of his hand, the familiar slim cylindrical feel
bringing him some comfort. He could open that door easily with it, could probably slip out of
the entire facility without raising a single alarm, but he could barely stand right now, let alone
walk, and he had no clue where Rose was. He could only hope she’d be brought back to him
and the feeling would return to his legs soon. Until then he would just have to wait the pain
away.

It felt like forever as the Doctor counted every second of the following hour before he heard
new footsteps coming from down the hall. The violent shakes had finally left his body aching
and sore but thankfully functional again as he pushed himself carefully to his knees. A
scraggily rat-faced man appeared on the other side of the bars, pushing a dejected Rose Tyler
in front of him. “Rose!” The Doctor launched himself to his feet and flew at the bars,
ignoring how his right ankle rolled in the process, while Rat-face roughly undid her
handcuffs. He had one hand wrapped around Rose’s throat which he used to make her bend
her head to the side, lowering his lips to her exposed neck and giving it a quick biting kiss,
eyes trained mockingly on the Doctor the whole time, who was starting to simmer with anger
on the other side of the bars. “Don’t touch her. Leave her alone.”

Rat-face just laughed. “I think you’re a bit late to fight for her honor, mate.” He continued to
chuckle as he unlocked the door and pushed Rose inside. She fell into the Doctor’s arms,
making a point to whimper loud enough for Rat-face to hear. The Doctor looked her over
quickly, noting the torn off button, messed up hair, and mascara stained tear-tracks marking
down her cheeks.

When he saw the bruised and raw wrists he thought he’d lost it. He moved Rose so she would
sit on the small cot before spinning around, intending to strangle Rat-face where he stood, but
froze as another cattle prod waved right in front of his face. His pupils dilated as he flashed
back to the pain that thing had brought him not long ago, but his shock quickly transformed
into absolute fury. He backed off as Rat-face swung the door shut again, but his glare never
left him. The glare of the Oncoming Storm. For once the smirk was wiped off Rat-face’s lips
as he became to sole focus of a Time Lord’s rage, and he hurriedly turned and left.

The Doctor stood there for another moment, letting the anger roll off of him until he was
calm once again, his hearts rate lowing into a steady beat. He whirled around to where Rose
was sitting on the cot, rubbing her wrists gently, and knelt down. He took her face in his
hands, tenderly rubbing her cheeks with his thumbs as he searched for injuries. “Are you
alright?” He asked urgently.

“I’m fine…” Rose whispered back. Her voice was shaken but her eyes were steady as she
stared at the Doctor fretting over her.

He checked her wrists, relieved to see they weren’t injured too badly, before carefully
rebuttoning the skipped buttons on her blouse. He cupped her face again and ran his thumbs
under her eyes, rubbing away the mascara smears and the wetness of what he assumed had
been tears. Then he pressed his forehead against hers and closed his eyes with a deep breath.
“I’m sorry.” He whispered as he held her close, knowing there were no words in her language
that could accurately describe how wretched and guilty he felt. “Nak’tea, I am so, so sorry.”
Rose nodded slowly. “Really, I’m fine.” She tried to reassure him quietly. “I can handle
them.”

“But you shouldn’t have to.” She didn’t need another language to hear the guilt in his voice,
to feel how scared he was, how useless he’d felt. She pulled back so she could look him in
the eye, keeping her hands wrapped around his arms.

“Stop feeling guilty.” She told him as sternly as she could. “There was nothing you could do,
so stop torturing yourself. Seriously, I’m fine. I’m just…” She paused, realizing suddenly just
how exhausted she felt. “I’m just tired. Can we sleep?”

The Doctor nodded. “Of course.” He replied softly, allowing her to pull him onto the small
cot with her. She curled into his chest, head resting on his shoulder with her fingers gripping
the fabric on the front of his jacket. The Doctor gently brushed a blonde lock behind her ear
and continued to stroke her hair comfortingly. They laid in silence for a long moment. He
could feel Rose’s breathing deepen as she relaxed into him, could hear her heartbeat slow to a
steady, consistent rhythm. “I’m going to get us out of here.” He promised into her hair, eyes
glaring determinedly at the ceiling.

To his surprise he felt Rose laugh lightly into this chest. “One step ahead of you, Doctor.”

“What?” The Doctor shifted slightly, taken aback by her casual response.

“Do you think they’re listening in here?” She whispered back. The Doctor just shrugged and
moved down so it looked like he was simply snuggling closer to Rose while really he was
getting his ear as close to her as possible. After a pause to figure out where best to start, Rose
told him about her meeting with Ren. She could feel relief radiating off the Time Lord as he
realized the captain hadn’t even touched her and that she really was fine, just putting on a
façade for any wandering eyes and ears. But as the story went on his frown began to deepen,
thinking of every possible way this could be some sort of trick. Rose seemed to have sensed
that, for she paused suddenly and asked, “Do you think we can trust him?”

“I don’t know…” The Doctor answered honestly. “It could easily be some sort of scam, but
maybe not. Why did he say he wanted to help again?”

“Doctor, he’s human, like me.” The Doctor nodded, having sensed it when they’d first ran
into him despite the orange eyes and nose. “He’s been alone for years. He just wants to go
home.”

The Doctor sighed. “Yeah, I can understand that.” He muttered. Rose felt her cheeks go red
and quickly nuzzled back into his chest to hide the guilt of bringing that up again. The Doctor
wrapped his arms around her, forcing himself to breath deeply and regularly so she would
subconsciously follow suit and relax.

A few minutes later Rose spoke up again. “You okay, though?”

“Hmm?”

“That…thing they used…are you okay?”

Pause… “Yeah, of course I’m okay.” He lied easily. “Just a bit of electricity, nothing I can’t
handle.”

“Yeah, but you shouldn’t have to.” She smiled slightly as she threw his words from earlier
back at him. She felt him chuckle lightly beneath her head.

“Stop being clever, Rose Tyler.”

“No. I shant.” She replied sleepily. The Doctor laughed again, the sound of his laugh like a
lullaby to Rose as she began to drift off. The Doctor pressed his lips gently to the top of her
head as she finally slipped into sleep, pulling her even closer as if trying to prove he would
never let her go again. The sonic sat safe and forgotten in his inside breast pocket.

Far above the holding cells Blondie stood alone in the security center, pulling his yellow hair
back into a ponytail as he stared at the computer screen showing their two prisoners huddled
together on the too small cot. He couldn’t decide who he was more intrigued with; the human
girl so confident and so far from home, or the unknown male with some serious ‘mother-
bear’ issues. Maybe he didn’t have to decide between them. He smiled thinking about all the
things he could force them to do, taking advantage of their obvious weakness for each other
to see how far he could push them. As clever as the male might be, they were both idiots,
giving their ‘enemy’ the one perfect weapon to be used against them.

He expected it would be used against them soon. But not by him. As much as the thought of
both of them, vulnerable – especially the stoic male – made him tingle, the money did it for
him more.

He turned from the screen and reached for the one land-line phone in the room. It only had
one button on it labeled ‘dial’ and only one line it connected to. It rang twice before the other
end was picked up.

“This is Crvas from Outpost 8, identification number 43-04-600....Yes….Yes, and how much
does Eyal offer for new stock again? Oh!” His eyebrows shot up at the number he heard.
“Well then, in that case I’m calling to inform the Eyal facility that we have two ready for
transport and training. No…” He looked around to make sure he was alone again. “The
captain’s busy; he gave me the order to make the call. Well, of course we’ll keep them
comfortable until you get here. A week?” He smiled sinisterly. “Oh yes, I’m sure we can find
something to do with them until then…”
 Chapter 6

Rose was still fast asleep in his arms, finally relaxed, and the Doctor couldn’t bring himself
to disturb her peace, even if he could hear a door opening somewhere down the hall and
footsteps walking slowly towards their cell. As carefully as he could the Doctor pulled his
arm out from under her body and sat up. She didn’t wake, but she shifted in her sleep,
drawing her arms around her chest as she subconsciously recognized his absence. The Doctor
quietly took off his suit jacket and draped it over her upper body. Rose sniffed, identifying his
scent on the jacket, and pulled it closer to her like a safety belt.

The Doctor stood, legs still stiff even after the hours of rest he’d just got, and moved towards
the barred wall just as Blondie came into view. Blondie smirked when he saw the way the
Doctor winced as his sore muscles were forced to stretch and move, and even laughed softly
as he forced a fake smile to cover up the moment of weakness. “Morning!” The Time Lord
greeted with forged cheeriness.

“Sleep well, did you?” Blondie decided to play along with the Doctor’s game of politeness.

“Oh, yes, very well, thanks.” The Doctor leaned casually against bars of his cell, dangerously
close to the man who had – more or less – been torturing him not long ago, acting as if they
were good friends. “Although, you seem to have forgotten to leave the chocolates on our
pillow. We were very disappointed.” He pouted.

Blondie snorted as he tried to cover up a burst of laughter. “How rude, thoughtless, and
inconsiderate of us.” He managed to reply through his chuckling. “But I doubt you’ll be
complaining about your treatment here in a week’s time. In fact, I’d bet you five thousand
credits that you’ll be begging for my company again in a fortnight after what you’re both
going to go through.”

The Doctor tried to ignore the end of that statement, not enjoying that dark pang of dread that
was beginning to set into his chest. He didn’t know what the plan was exactly – Rose hadn’t
been very specific on that part, only saying they were currently in the company of slavers, but
something felt even worse. Someone had once tried to sell him into slavery before (but he
wasn’t about to tell Rose about that one just yet) but there was something more sinister about
this one than that small planet’s misunderstanding.

So he shoved the trepidation to the back of his mind and instead decided to pointedly look
Blondie up and down, from his worn-out combat boots to his shaggy yellow hair, and raised
an eyebrow. “You have five thousand credits to throw away on that? Pfft, I am in the wrong
business, apparently.”

Blondie just smiled ominously and leaned in a bit closer. “I will have five thousand credits to
throw away very soon…thanks to this business. And you, actually. You and your human bitch
over there.”

Taking a step back, the Doctor glanced quickly back at Rose, who was still asleep and
clutching at his jacket. Five thousand credits? For a pair of ‘slaves’? Blondie was beginning
to chuckle again, drawing the Doctor’s attention back to him. “You really care about that one,
don’t you? It’s far too obvious, you know. You should really be careful what you let people
know…you never know how it could be used against you later.”

“Don’t you dare touch her.” The Doctor growled, glaring Blondie down. It would have been
far more intimidating if the look wasn’t being interrupted by the thick metal bars separating
them.

“Oh, I won’t touch her. Not really my type, as pretty as she is. But I can’t make any promises
for anyone else in this place. Especially our dear ol’ captain. In fact –” He paused, looking
mockingly ponderous. “She’ll probably thank me for sending her away, after hearing the
stories of what he just did to her.”

Even though he knew those stories were made up (Rose wouldn’t lie to him to keep him from
worrying about her, right?...Right?) the Doctor simmered with anger at the thought of what
those stories might have said. What he might be thinking about of his Rose.

He was spared from responding as another door down the hall burst open and loud voices and
footsteps could suddenly be heard. Behind him, Rose sat bolt upright, startled out of her sleep
by the sound, and glanced around desperately for the Doctor, a moment of panic coursing
through her as she realized he wasn’t lying down with her anymore. The Doctor quickly
seized the bars and tried to peer down the hall at the commotion just out of sight, the bars
preventing him from seeing much further than the space right in front of him. Blondie even
looked up and was now laughing at whatever was going on, jeering for once at something
other than the Doctor.

“Put the first five in this one here.” An authoritative voice called out above the noise. “Then
split the rest up in those two last cells.” His words were met with more clanging, footsteps,
and shouting. The Doctor heard a strange form of Drephesh shouted out above the rest
followed by a quick buzz and a cry of pain. He strained so hard against the bars to see that he
was sure he’d walk away with a permanent dent in his forehead.

Finally a group of people came into his line of sight. Rose had since stood up and was now
by his side, also trying to see what was happening after glancing questioningly at the back of
Blondie’s head. A couple member of the outpost – distinguishable by their sand-colored
fatigues – were shoving along a group of about fifteen native Drepheshies, their hands all
cuffed in front of them and shuffling forward in a line. The men were all very muscular, their
bare chests showing off their tanned, sun-hardened skin from living life in the depths of the
desert, but the smaller, fewer outpost men definitely had the upper-hand as they twirled
around their own prods, occasionally jabbing at the air around one of the Drephesh to keep
them moving and on there toes. The Doctor was disgusted to see that among them were a
handful of women and young children.

“What are they here for?” The Doctor quietly asked Blondie as the group made their way
passed to the cells on the other side.

Blondie chuckled. “The Facility’s not the only place that needs slaves. We allow the Drephies
to work at the outpost – some building and maintenance work mainly, though sometimes we
need some lab mice for the tunnels and such. The ones we allow to live, that is.”
“You’re all disgusting…” Rose commented under her breath, which caused Blondie to look
away from the march and toss her a grin and a wink.

“Don’t bash the lifestyle just yet, human, you’ll be part of it soon.”

The Doctor watched as the last two Drephesh passed their cell – a mother and her young son,
probably only nine year old or so, who was clinging to the back of her skirt with his thin,
bound hands. The boy barely would lift up his feet as he moved, fear and trepidation written
across his face. For that reason he didn’t see the slightly uneven flooring and his bare toe
caught on one of the raised tiles. He shouted as he fell to his knees, throwing out his hands to
stop the fall. With horror the Doctor saw an outpost member growl angrily and yell for the
boy to get back in line. The boy went to stand, but not fast enough. The man lashed out,
catching the boy in the ribs with the toe of his combat boots. The mother cried out and threw
herself in front of the man to protect her son, but another man just came forward and grabbed
her by the arms, throwing her into one of the cells as the other delivered another blow to the
crying boy’s side. The others were laughing. Disgust and hatred rolled off the Doctor as he
noticed the man delivering the kicks was the same that had brought Rose back earlier – Rat-
face.

“Stop it!” The Doctor yelled, trying to shake the bars as the boy shouted out again in pain. He
was on his back now, tears spilling rapidly from his screwed-shut eyes. Rat-Face brought his
foot down on the boy’s hand, a loud crunch and a cry from the boy announcing a finger or
two breaking. The Doctor was frantic. “Stop! Don’t hurt him!”

Blondie could barely talk through the amount he was laughing. “He was disobeying our
orders.” Each word was punctuated with a chuckle. “Someone’s got to teach him how to react
faster.”

“And he’d probably be able to if you weren’t beating the hell out of him!” Rose shouted back
angrily. Blondie just winked at her.

“Stop it!” The Doctor finally shouted to Blondie instead of the obviously preoccupied Rat-
Face. “Tell him to stop!”

Finally the smile vanished off of Blondie’s face. He glared at the Doctor as if he’d just called
his mother the worst name in the universe. He held up a hand to Rat-Face without looking
around and told him to “Stop.” Rat-Face quickly complied, brushing back his disheveled hair
as the boy at his feet curled into a protective ball, sobbing. His mother shouted for him from
the cell next door.

Without taking his suddenly mirthless eyes off the Doctor, who was breathing hard for some
reason as he watched the boy cry on the ground, Blondie unlocked the cell door and shoved it
open. The Doctor and Rose both stood their staring, not sure what the man was playing at.
“You want to help him, do you?” His voice was perilously flat, brimming with anger. He
shoved the cell door open a bit more. “Than go ahead.” He hissed. “Help the boy.”

A moment of immobility surrounded the entire space as the Doctor glanced between Blondie,
the boy, and the door, before cautiously taking a step forward. Rose grabbed his hand, having
caught up on the fact that this was probably some trap of Blondie’s. “Doctor…” She
mumbled questioningly.

“A ‘Doctor’, are you?” Blondie jeered lowly. “Well, come on, then. Fix him.”

The Doctor pulled his hand out of Roses and moved towards the door. Trick or not, at least all
the attention was finally on him instead of the boy, so maybe he could help in some way.

The moment his foot crossed the threshold of the cell he cried out in pain as the tip of a prod
was thrust into his side. He collapsed to his knees, the energy forcing his muscles to seize and
contract until he could hardly control them. It was like a thousand million tiny knives
stabbing at every muscle in his body all at once, severing their connection to his central
nervous system and cutting off all communication from the brain, which was also going
haywire from the pain. The electricity finally vanished and he just had time to gulp in one
lungful of sweet air and to hear Rose shout his name desperately before Blondie’s boot made
contact with his side, the force of the kick sending him falling onto his back, all air vanishing
from his lungs in an instant. He still hadn’t recovered entirely from his earlier beating and his
body was screaming at him for his idiocracy and inability to stay out of trouble.

Suddenly the side of the prod was brought down on his stomach, feeling like a baseball bat to
the gut. And again and again, Blondie standing over him with wild eyes, swinging viciously.
“YOU.” Slam. “DO.” Hit. “NOT.” Crunch. “GIVE.” Bang. “ME.” Thump. “ORDERS.”
Whack.

The Doctor had curled onto his side, which had not helped to protect him as the prod was
brought down again and again on his back and shoulders instead. He could feel the welts
already beginning to form, and sometimes a small shock of electricity accompanied a hit as
the tip made contact with him instead. The whole time he hadn’t let a single whimper or
moan escape him but allowed the beating to happen, not fighting back like he could have. He
would much rather the guards get their kicks (literally) out on him now instead of some
innocent child, and maybe they would be satisfied enough by the end to leave the boy alone.

He could hear Rose shouting something from somewhere but his ear were ringing to loudly
to hear what as his heart pumped blood through his head. He cracked his eyes open enough to
see Rose clawing at the arms of Rat-Face, who was holding her back and beaming with sheer
delight at her distress. The Doctor suddenly felt like he was going to vomit – from the
predatoril look on that man’s face as he held Rose or from the beating, he wasn’t sure – and
rolled onto his knees, using his hands to keep from falling over.

Blondie, who had finally recaptured some of his calm from before, kneeled down beside the
Doctor, panting lightly as he held the prod threateningly in front of the Doctor’s face.
“Understand?” He hissed viciously.

The Doctor took a moment to respond, trying to catch his breath, before grunting, “Not sure.
I-I think one more hit should do it.”

His wish was Blondie’s command as Blondie jabbed the prod against his shoulder again,
sending a short, but not nearly less painful, jolt through the Doctor’s already heavily abused
body. The Doctor tried to muffle his cry as he fell onto his elbows, pressing his forehead into
his forearms as they braced against the floor. As the current was released Blondie leaned
down so he was eye level with the Doctor, who was fighting just to keep his blackened eyes
open at the time.

“I would be careful if I was you, alien.” Blondie warned with a low growl. “My self-control
is waning and you don’t want to know what I’m holding back. Now get back in your cell.”

The Doctor, pretty sure he didn’t want to know what losing self-control looked like after that
attack, pushed himself back onto his hands and knees and agonizingly tried to stand. But
suddenly Blondie had his foot on the nape of the Doctor’s neck, forcing him back down onto
all fours.

“Oh, no, no, no.” He drawled as he put a little extra pressure on the Doctor’s neck. “I want
you to crawl. Resemble the livestock you really as so next time you remember your place.
You are little better than your precious Earth’s pack-mules, so behave like one.”

“At least – humans – treat them better.” The Doctor panted just loud enough for Blondie to
hear. In response, Blondie stepped away and raised the prod again, this time pointed at Rose
who was still being held tightly by Rat-Face. The little remaining color in Rose’s face fell
away and left her chalk-white as she glanced between the approaching prod and her Doctor.

“Crawl.” Blondie commanded. “NOW!”

The Doctor complied as quickly as he could, forcing his sore limps to move forward on his
hands and knees. He made it to the threshold when suddenly cackled with static and the
Captain’s voice suddenly came through it. Blondie placed his foot on the Doctor’s back again
to stop him as he reached for his radio, but this time the pressure was too much and the
Doctor caved underneath it. He fell onto his stomach, a quiet “Ohff” and a muffled sarcastic
“thanks…” escaping his lips as he once again found himself without air.

“Awful timing, Cap, quite busy right now.” Blondie growled into the radio, which instantly
sizzle with static again as the Captain replied.

“Bring up the female and male. Now.” His voice ordered.

Blondie looked between the suddenly silent Rose and the Doctor beneath his foot
suspiciously. “The female and male, sir?” He asked cautiously back into the radio, sharing a
confused and slightly amused look with Rat-Face.

“Did I fucking stutter?” The Captain replied and the Doctor had to stop himself from
laughing at the completely ‘earth’ saying.

The two brutes here, however, didn’t seem to realize it’s origins as Blondie hissed back.
“Fine. We’ll be up in five.” Before clicking off his radio and slamming it back into it’s
holder. “Get up.” He now growled at the Doctor, who ended up having to use the bars to pull
himself to his feet as Rat-Face – way too happy – clamped restraints back on Rose’s still
swollen and bruised wrists. Blondie grabbed the Doctor by the collar of his shirt and hauled
him the rest of the way up before slamming another set of handcuffs on him. He dragged the
Doctor around and shoved him down the hallway as Rat-Face tugged Rose along as well. She
struggled to catch up to the Doctor, make sure he was okay, try to help him in some way, but
Rat-Face held her close, breathing down her neck with his hot, smelly breath. “Ready for
round two, love?” He licked the edge of her ear and laughed at the way she shuddered and
tried to flinch her way out of his reach, but his grip around her waist was tight and far too
personal as he dragged her along after her limping Doctor.
 Chapter 7

“Well that was exciting.” The Doctor commented enthusiastically as he was shoved down
one of the typical cookie-cutter hallways of the outpost, trying to hide the limp he’d suddenly
formed in the hopes of relieving some pain from his side. A line of blood tickled his upper lip
as it leaked down from his bleeding nose to his mouth. He grimaced as the taste of his own
blood mixed with the burning-metallic tang of being electrocuted. “Too bad the good ole
Captain had to go and spoil all the fun, eh?”

He gasped as Blondie grabbed the back of his neck with a bruising grip, his fingernails
digging into the skin beneath his hairline. “Pack-mules don’t talk.” He growled savagely,
obviously still bitter about his fun being interrupted.

The Doctor frowned. “Well, they do bay, though maybe it doesn’t sound like talking to you.
But would you rather I communicate like that? There’s actually this planet on the border of
the Annex System where the people actually use a language similar to the sound of earth’s
donkeys.” He thought for a moment as he was pushed around a corner and stumbled slightly.
“I wonder if a donkey would actually be able to understand them speaking…That decides it.
Rose?”

“Yes, Doctor?” She replied breathlessly from behind him.

“Let’s go to Earth, adopt a donkey, and run this experiment, when we get out of here.” He
put extra emphasis on the ‘when’ and turned to glare pointedly at Blondie, who gave him a
fleeting, mirthless smile.

“Pehlam,” He addressed Rat-Face, who was still standing far too close to Rose for the
Doctor’s comfort (or for her own). “Let’s give the female some encouragement.”

Rat-Face grinned all too excitedly as he whipped out his own prod and lightly pressed it to
Rose’s bare arm. The effect was instantaneous. Rose yelped in pain, trying to escape the
sharp zap of the prod only to be held still and in place by Rat-Face’s surprisingly strong arms.
He held her up as one of her legs spasmed and bent, threatening to give away under her.

“Okay! All right!” The Doctor hissed. “No talking or baying of any kind. You can count on
me.” He drew a finger across his lips as if zipping it shut, twisted to lock it, threw away the
key – which was not a very easy movement to complete with his hands cuffed together.

Blondie smirked back at Rat-Face. “See? I guess she can be good for more than just one
thing.”

The Doctor glared daggers at him for that statement, but it was Rose who spoke up this time.
“Oh, bite me.” She snapped at him. True, it wasn’t her best line, but she was still slightly in
shock from the prod’s sudden touch and still recovering from watching the crap getting
beaten out of that little boy and the Doctor – who’d only been trying to help – so it was the
only thing her shaken mind could think of.
She regretted it, though, as Rat-Face leaned closer and whispered in her ear. “Don’t tempt
me, love, or I might just take you up on that.”

“Hmy ahhya hum hhhr.” The Doctor growled through his imaginary gag. He didn’t miss the
way Blondie’s eyes rolled in exasperation as he pushed the Doctor into motion once more.
“All of you, shut up.” Blondie rumbled more to himself.

They were led down a corridor Rose was starting to recognize; she knew they were only a
couple more turns to the Captain’s office. If they could just make it there without the Doctor
further pissing off either of their guards maybe they could both catch a break.

Rose shivered suddenly as a random spike of electricity went through her, left over from
earlier. She glanced down at her arm and saw a small black smudge, a burn mark, decorating
her skin where the cattle prod had touched her. She wanted to pull down her sleeve so the
Doctor wouldn’t see – he had enough to worry about right now besides her pathetic, flimsy
injuries – but her sleeve wasn’t long enough. Why had she left her jacket in the TARDIS that
morning?

They reached the familiar door to Ren’s office and knocked once. They only had to wait a
few seconds before Captain Ren opened the door sharply, running a towel through his damp
hair. He glared scrutinizingly at his two men before muttering impatiently, “Took you long
enough. Cuffs off.” And stepping aside so they could lead the two prisoners inside.

“Sorry, Cap.” Blondie replied with a politeness in his voice that made the Doctor almost
laugh. “Had a little trouble down the hall, all sorted out now, though.” He smiled up at his
captain like a dog expecting a treat, but the Captain just studied Rose instead, who had be
forcibly led to one of the chairs and shoved down into it.

The Doctor was treated similarly. Blondie pushed him down in the chair next to Rose and
began unlocking the cuffs. The metal fell away and the Doctor instantly began to rub his
wrists. “Humks” The Doctor ‘said’ with his lips still zipped shut.

Blondie, visibly annoyed, made an impatient noise and growled. “What?”

The Doctor reached up and made an unzipping movement across his lips once more. “Oh, am
I allowed to speak now? Brilliant! I was just saying thanks.” He smiled cheekily up at
Blondie, who didn’t waste any time bring the back of his hand swiftly across the Doctor’s
face. His head snapped to the side from the force. “Ah! That wasn’t very nice.” He gave
Blondie a hurt look as he gently massaged his stinging cheek.

“Crvas, stand down.” The Captain ordered as he continued to watch Rose, who purposefully
refused to meet his gaze and leaned away ever so slightly, not once forgetting the front they
were supposed to be putting up. Her acting was so persuasive even the Doctor was convinced
she was scared. He made a mental note to suggest to her that she try a hand in theater later.

Suddenly the Captain whirled on Rat-Face as he struck a finger out at Rose, jabbing at the
black spot on her arm. Rose flinched as the spot proved to be tender and placed her other
hand over it for protection. “What is this?” The Captain snapped the question. His orange
eyes pierced through Rat-Face and the fake ridges on his nose made his snarl look even more
menacing.

Rat-Face seemed to agree as he shrunk away ever so slightly and muttered quietly, “Just a
love-bite. Keep her on her toes.” It was a weak answer with weak conviction.

“And do you not remember me telling you not to touch her?” He stepped up so close to Rat-
Face he could almost touch his greasy nose with his own. “I don’t like it when people touch
my things.” He added in a deep, threatening voice. “Now get out!” He barked. “Both of you!”

The Doctor watched the two men scamper out the door up-side-down as he leaned his head
over the back of the chair, trying to stop the flow of blood from his nose. “Oh, bravo!” He
commented when the door finally slid shut. “You’re quite good. I wonder, did you have any
classical training back on earth?”

Ren sighed as he walked around them and sat on the edge of his desk. He looked tired – at
least more so than when Rose had seen him just yesterday. “So, you told him.” It wasn’t an
accusation, just a statement that was neither impressed nor angry.

“She didn’t have to.” The Doctor replied. “I could smell you from a few corridors back; that
distinct human smell of will-power and chips. Although I bet you’d call them ‘French Fries’,
wouldn’t you?” He asked the American. “Nice look though…simple and convincing.”

The Captain snorted a little at the rambling man, having not heard his real speaking abilities
until so. “And I’m guessing you’ve looked better before, too.” He indicated the bleeding
nose, his swollen eyes, and the bruises forming on his visible skin. “What happened?”

“Your mates,” Rose hissed as Ren stood and walked towards a basin at the back of the room
and began dampening a hand cloth. “Decided the Doctor would make a nice punching bag
after he tried protecting the Drepheshie child they were using before.” Her anger was evident
in her voice, both for the disgusting display of violence towards that little boy and the
eagerness to dish some out to a man who was just trying to help.

The wet towel flew across the room to the Doctor, who caught it and nodded a ‘thanks’
towards Ren before applying it to his no longer gushing nose, wiping away the sticky orange-
red blood from his face. Rose quickly kneeled down in front of him to help, guiding his hand
to the worst sections he couldn’t see himself. Ren watched them curiously from the opposite
side of the room.

Clearing his throat pointedly, the captain made his way back towards the pair of them,
stopping at the desk to sit up on the edge of it and cross his arms. Doubt danced across his
features for a moment. “Then I guess you’ll be happy to hear you won’t be staying here much
longer.”

Rose looked up excitedly. “You mean you’ve already come up with an escape plan?”

“Not exactly.” Ren admitted, pinching the bridge of his nose in annoyance. “One of my
officers – not quite sure who yet – went against my command and called in your capture. I go
the order confirmation just now. I’m so sorry, but a shuttle will be arriving within the week to
take you both to Eyal.”

The Doctor visible blanched all of a sudden. Beneath the remaining smears of blood, his face
had turned white as a sheet and his pupils suddenly dilated. He instantly sat up a little
straighter in his chair.

“Are you talking about the Eyal Initiative?” His voice shook slightly as he said those words
and something flashed across his eyes that only Rose seemed to notice. Something dark.

Ren frowned. “It hasn’t been referred to as the Initiative in years – not since the collapse of
Location Six – but yes, it’s more or less the same. So you’ve heard of it?”

The Doctor gave a shaky laugh. “Heard of it? Oh yeah, you could say that.” Then suddenly
something came to mind and he leaped up from his seat, startling Rose as his eyes began to
tear into the captain’s, a storm brewing behind those brown orbs. “You didn’t tell them what I
am, did you?” He sounded both angry and, so very, very slightly, scared. But no, Rose
thought, he couldn’t possibly be scared. Not the Doctor. Not of some simple slavers.

Ren seemed to be sharing Rose’s confusion. “We don’t even know what you are? Our scan
didn’t work, remember?”

“Good! That’s perfect! Tell them I’m human. Tell them the scans went through properly and
identified us both from Earth. They mustn’t know who or what I am.” The desperation in his
voice made Rose shiver. What was all this about?

“Doctor?” She finally asked carefully. “Have you met them before?”

The Doctor glanced down at her and instantly the storm in his eyes began to wither, as it
always did when she was there to bring him back. He collapsed back into the chair, rapidly
feeling exhaustion from his recent beating and this close panic-attack beginning to wash over
him. “Once,” He admitted quietly, screwing his eyes shut in hopes of getting rid of the
unexpected headache he was now experiencing. “A long, long time ago, and it didn’t end
pretty. They’re not going to be happy with me if they find out…”

“I’m sorry to say,” Ren interjected, “But they’re going to be running their own scans anyway.
I don’t know much about what happens at the Facility, but I know they perform all sorts of
tests and trials for categorization and pricing. I doubt you’ll be able to convince them you’re
human for long if you’re really not. What are you, anyway?” His eyebrow rose with curiosity.
The creature looked human, acted human, and was even speaking English at the moment, but
judging from his sudden alarm at being identified that was clearly not the case.

“It doesn’t matter.” The Doctor avoided the question. The less he knew the safer he would be
from accidents. “I have no intention of ever making it to the ‘Facility’ for them to find out,
but they’ll be calling back soon to get our details for shipping requirements. If they find out
who I am they’ll be here by the end of the day with their full-force military, and no one here
will want that, I promise you. With this week at least we have time to formulate an escape
plan.”
This time it was Ren’s turn to grow pale at the suggestion. “I’m sorry, that’s not going to be
possible. I can’t help you with an escape – not anymore. As captain of the outpost my every
move will be being monitored now, my file analyzed, everything about me studied to ensure
I’m not a traitor trying to trick the Eyal by summoning them here. They don’t take any
chances, not even among their own, and considering I am a traitor I can’t risk having a slip-
up right now.”

“So you’re not going to help us?” Rose got to her feet angrily. “I thought you wanted to go
home just as badly as we did! What happened to that?”

“I would rather be alive and stuck here than be executed on the off chance I can hitch a ride
from a couple of slaves.” He spat back quickly, but from the slight tremor of his voice the
Doctor could tell he wasn’t entirely convinced of his own moral choice either.

Rose glared at him for a moment more before leaning forward, their faces close and
threatening. “Then you’re a coward.” She stated simply, her eyes bearing into his accusingly.

“Rose…” The Doctor said carefully, calling her off the attack. Slowly she backed off. “Look,
Captain, I understand where you’re coming from, I really do, but there’s more at stake here
than our lives if they find out who I am…I’m only asking you for one thing, I can take care
of everything else.”

Ren hesitated for a moment before sighing heavily and shaking his head. “What do you
need?” He finally asked dejectedly.

A smile cracked across the Doctor’s face. “Just need to know the quickest way to the
courtyard and for that path to coincidentally be void of any guards. I’ve got everything else
covered.” He reached into the inside pocket of his jacket and pulled out a long, thin, silver
object. Rose gasped.

“You still have the screwdriver?!” The Doctor smiled cheekily and winked at her.

“I don’t understand.” Ren muttered. “How is a pen going to help?”

The Doctor gawked at the captain for a moment, holding the sonic screwdriver close as if the
insult could have actually hurt the inanimate object. “It’s not a pen! It’s a sonic screwdriver!
And yes, it will help! And the best part is that you don’t even need to leave your office if you
don’t want to. Or go get a coffee with your officers. Build your own alibi as you find fitting.
Not that you’re going to need one.”

Ren raised his eyebrows again. This man sounded incredibly confident for a prisoner on a
foreign planet. “Oh? And why’s that?”

“Because I’ll be out and back to pick you and Rose up before anyone even notices I’m gone.”

“Wait,” Rose spun on the Doctor. “You’re leaving me behind?”

The Doctor scoffed. “Of course not! I’m just going to pop out to pick up the TARDIS and fly
it back here.”
“And you’re going to do this alone?”

“Yes, of course.”

“You’re mental!” Rose laughed suddenly. “You think I’m gonna let you attempt this without
backup?”

The Doctor considered for a moment. “Uh…yep, sounds about right.” He finally met Rose’s
eye and laughed at the disbelieving look in them. “What? Like I’m going to risk your safety
on this? You’re the mental one then. The good captain will make sure you’re safe till I get
back, right Ren?” The Doctor glanced up at Ren expectantly, daring him to say no to the
proposition and plan.

Luckily he didn’t take the bait and, with a sigh, agreed to his role in the escape. Rose groaned
as she was excluded from the action but refrained from arguing even more. At least they’d
gotten the captain back on their side. The following fifteen minutes or so were then dedicated
to solidifying the escape plan. Ren pulled up a map of the complex on his monitor and it took
the Doctor’s incredible brain all of two minutes to have every hall of the outpost memorized.
Ren announced he would call a staff meeting that night at ten o’clock and suggested that
would be the optimal time to attempt this with all the outpost members’ attention being on
the gathering (he then asked if the Doctor would need a signal to tell him it was time since
there were no clocks in the holding cells, but the Doctor just laughed and assured him he
would know).

Later that night, after Rose and the Doctor had been dragged roughly back to their cells and
deposited carelessly behind their bars once more, and after the Doctor and Rose silently
argued over Rose’s involvement for the last time, the first escape attempt was made in the
dead of the night.

And it failed.

Miserably.
 Chapter 8

It had all been going so well. The Doctor groaned as he thought back to the night before
when his beautifully planned escape had gone straight to Skaro in the blink of an eye. He
hadn’t exactly been planning on it not working, and therefore was still having a hard time
wrapping his mind around what had gone so wrong.

The night began just as they had expected. On the captain’s orders the prisoners were fed and
watered – although what the crew thought was passable as ‘food’ was still confusing to both
Rose and the Doctor, who quickly began to feel both deeply unsatisfied and sick from the
strange brownish glob they’d received for a meal.

“I think…it’s some kind of oatmeal.” The Doctor mumbled as he poked at it with his finger
and tried to ignore the way it just bounced back into place like jelly. “With bits of…
creature…in it.”

“And that’s enough disgusting brown sludge for me, thanks.” Rose announced and pushed
her own bowl away looking visibly ill. After force-feeding himself as much of the slop –
which tasted suspiciously like slugs sautéed in mud – his stomach could handle, the Doctor
rested for a while, allowing his healing process to speed up and mend the broken rib and the
more extravagant cuts and bruises on his body. Rose began pacing back and forth in the tiny
cell, unconsciously braiding her short hair as if forgetting she’d just recently cut it all off,
until the Doctor finally growled at her to calm down. She had never been very good at sitting
around and waiting.

They were, thankfully, left alone for the rest of the night and received no further unwanted
visits from Blondie (“What did Ren call him? Crvas?”) or Rat-Face, and when at last ten
o’clock rolled around the Doctor was mostly healed from his earlier adventure and ready to
get out. He waited a few minutes to ensure all the late stragglers to the meeting had found
their way out of the corridors before giving Rose a quick hug and sonicing the cell door open.
A few sparks shot from the lock, but otherwise the breakout was hardly even noticeable.

“I’ll be back before you can even say Raxacoricofallapatorius ten times fast.”

“I don’t know, I can speak pretty fast.” Rose countered, still upset about being left behind.
She didn’t like the idea of the Doctor running off on his own even though she knew he’d been
in worse situations before. At least now she had the chance to help him out and he wasn’t
even letting her.

He closed the door to the now single-person cell and turned to leave before hesitating. He
grabbed Rose’s hand through the bars of the cell and gave them a squeeze, staring at her
gorgeous, worried face. He had no idea this would be the last time he saw her the next two
and a half days, and that when he did return nothing would be the same for a long, long time.

Oblivious for once to his future, the Doctor bounded down the deserted room, shooting an
“Allons-y!” over his shoulder. The Drepheshies had been moved at some point during the day
while Rose and the Doctor had been with the captain to Rassilon knows where, so Rose was
all alone down here now. The Doctor buzzed the door at the end of the hall open and, after a
quick look around, dove out into the maze of the station.

It wouldn’t take long to reach the first outer door leading to the courtyard, and from there to
the large metal gate he’d seen when they first arrived at the outpost. The corridors were eerily
deserted and quiet save for the persistent hum of the machinery laced throughout the
complex. The Doctor closed his eyes briefly and listened to the buzz, feeling the vibrations
run through his converse and into his body. He was looking for a maintenance room, one that
had its own walkways throughout the inside of the building for repair needs that Ren had
pointed out on the map. However, the one he had pulled up on the monitor was an overview
of the main areas of the complex and gave very little details to exactly where the entrance to
the maintenance room was.

But the Doctor was not worried. Cutting off his other senses, he pressed his ear up to the
metal wall and listened, allowing his range of hearing to expand. To the left the sound was
getting weaker, quieter, but to the right it was steadily rising, as if more pipes and lines were
congregating in that area. The Doctor smiled and quickly headed off in that direction,
keeping close to the wall in case the machinery suddenly switched direction, which he knew
it wouldn’t. Ren had pointed in this general direction when they had been observing the map,
so the Doctor was feeling slightly more confident than usual (which was quite confident
indeed).

The hallway turned and suddenly a door appeared right in front of his nose labeled
EMCANIANNTE. The Doctor’s mind quickly translated it to say maintenance. The roar of the
lines inside the walls were now almost deafening for the Doctor, who’d opened his hearing
up a little bit more than usual, and he had to shake his head sharply to bring it slamming back
to normal. He tried the handle on the door – locked, of course – but made quick work of it
with the sonic, and soon the door practically flew open. The Doctor hissed at the sudden
noise as the edge of the door banged into the metal wall, echoing down the hallway, and
quickly adjusted the settings on the screwdriver. Maybe that was a little bit too much sonic…

The inside of the maintenance room looked exactly as one might assume. Pipe rattled
together and produced strange smelling clouds of steam and smoke. Buttons and toggles lined
the wall of one side of the room along with various calibrators and flashing lights reading off
energy levels and pressure buildup throughout the entire complex. On one side, however, was
the prize of the Doctor’s hunt: a small maintenance shaft, maybe just six feet tall and wide
enough for two men to walk side by side if they didn’t mind brushing arms occasionally. The
Doctor could see the map laid out inside his own head: It was down this walkway, two lefts,
the second path on the four-way fork, up a ladder, a right, and then up through one of the
ducts that would spit him out right beside the door to the outside yard. “Easy Peasy.”

The Doctor removed the metal grilling over the tunnel with ease and quietly moved it back in
place after he’d gone in. No need to leave behind unwanted evidence. Then he turned around
and huffed heavily through his nose.

The hallway was pitch black. Well, beside the little blue lights that dotted the floor along the
edge of the wall to show where the walkway curved or stopped. The Doctor had not been
expecting this. With a sigh he struggled to find the right setting that would turn on any lights
if there were any. The sonic whirled a few times, flickering in and out as it searched for a
source to light, but there was none. “Well, that’s just inconvenient.” The Doctor groaned.

He raised the screwdriver aloft and held his finger down on the button. The sonic produced a
faint, shrill sound the Doctor could hear only too well – Rassilon, that’s annoying – that shot
down the hallway and would bounce back to him if anything was about to get in his way.
Sonic Sonar! Or…Soniclocation! The Doctor was quite pleased with himself as he set off
down the hall, the little blue light at the end of the device also helping by casting a small
bubble of light in his path.

The first two corridors passed by dark but uneventful. The Doctor kept a finger trailing along
the right-hand wall so he could stay in touch with where he was standing and not get
completely turned around. His eyes were slowly beginning to adjust, but not quickly enough
as he suddenly came to a dead end, walking straight and unhesitatingly into a very solid wall.
He almost dropped the screwdriver out of surprise, which would have been extremely
unfortunate in his darkness. Instead, he managed to bring the sonic up and cast a little glow
on the wall he’d just had a fist-fight with and discovered he’d walked into some sort of
circular chamber. There were four doors lining the walls and the open hallway the Doctor had
just come from. He rubbed his hand over the back of his neck. This hadn’t been on the map…

“OH!” He exclaimed a bit louder than he meant to as he realized this was the four-way fork
in the road. “So you’re the ticket.” He muttered as he approached the second door to the left
of his hallway. This time the door wasn’t sealed shut and opened easily as he pushed on it.

“Ah! Much better!” The Doctor smiled as he was suddenly standing in a corridor basked in a
yellowish-orange light. He strode forward with much more ease, even taking his time to look
around at all the wires, cables, and pipes jutting out of the ceiling. The hallway suddenly
turned and the Doctor, previously distracted, froze on the spot.

The man he’d nearly run into seemed just as surprised as he was. He was a smaller man,
stocky and a bit large, standing in maintenance overalls carrying a toolbox and a metal-
handled broom. They stared at each other for a moment, completely stunned, but the Doctor
recovered first. “Hello!” He added a cheerful smile. “So sorry to barge in on you like this, but
I seem to be a bit lost. Do you know the quickest way out of the building?”

The man just stared for a moment as if he couldn’t believe his eyes, and the suddenly the
toolbox fell from his hand, tools bouncing and scattering across the floor, as he reached for a
radio on his hip. “Oh, no, please don’t do that.” The Doctor moaned before leaping on the
little man. The radio flew from his hand and clattered to the ground a few feet away. But the
man unexpectedly growled and kicked the Doctor off of him with surprising force. He
grabbed the end of his metal broom and suddenly started swinging it wildly around the
cramped space. The Doctor ducked and rolled out of the way, anticipating the man’s clumsy
movements and avoiding them with ease. Finally the end of the broom handle came flying
straight towards the Doctor’s face and he grabbed it effortlessly. He tried to pull it out of the
man’s grip, but his hold was surprisingly strong and he clung on as the Doctor spun the
broom around and –

SLAM!
The man collided harshly with the curved side of the tunnel. He let out one sad moan before
sliding to the ground, unconscious. The Doctor stood over him a little stunned by that sudden
turn of events. “Oops…”

Now he really had to move. Who knew how many other maintenance workers didn’t get their
invitation to the staff meeting and were wandering these tiny halls. The Doctor moved at a
hurried walk, sometimes leaping into a jog again, before he finally reached a tall, narrow
ladder attached to the wall that led up a narrow tube. Holding his sonic screwdriver between
his teeth, the Doctor began to climb. It wasn’t long before he reached the right platform at the
top. Only one more corridor to go. This one was less brightly illuminated than the last, but
more-so than the first. He kept his sonic out and ready just in case, as if it were some sort of
weapon or a magic wand. It was kind of both.

He crept along quietly, keeping low so as to avoid the short ceiling. Here there were multiple
shorter ladders that led to round pot-hole like exits to the main complex. The Doctor counted
them in his head. Hoftur…dirth…dsneoc…Ah, tfsir! Translating to ‘one’, the duct that would
lead closest to the outside door!

The Doctor quickly scrambled up the ladder and twisted the lid off the exit. There was a short
tube he had to crawl through on the other side with another round entrance at the end. He was
starting to feel a bit too claustrophobic for comfort, and time was ticking on. It was exactly
10:28 and he had no idea how long Ren could drag on the meeting. The little skirmish with
the maintenance man had caused an unwanted delay and this was turning into one of those
rare moments when the Doctor felt like Time wasn’t on his side.

The circular hatch slid open quietly and the Doctor released a breath he didn’t know he’d
been holding as he came face-to-face with a door. He could practically feel the cool desert
night air wafting in beneath the doorframe, taunting him forward.

He spent too long staring at the door. The Doctor jump as a loud, blaring alarm suddenly
burst into life from somewhere down the hall. He cursed colorfully in Gallifreyan as he
struggled with the sonic, trying to get to the right setting as quickly as his rapidly shaking
hands could. He didn’t doubt the alarm was going off all throughout the outpost and whether
the meeting had still been in session, it certainly wasn’t now.

The sonic sputtered in and out of life unhelpfully. A cool, impassive voice interrupted the
alarm, “Prisoner escape in maintenance shafts. Prisoner escape in maintenance shaft.” The
man must have woken up again and radioed in his attack. Well, the Doctor thought, always
looking for his silver lining, at least they think I’m still in the ducts.

That wouldn’t last long though. The sonic finally buzzed to its proper life and the door flew
open. The Doctor burst through, nearly tripping on the unexpected piles of sand just on the
other side of the threshold. He shot off down the center of the courtyard – so much for stealth
– stumbling as the sand proved to not be very much fun to run through. His calves burned
from the effort of pushing through the loose terrain. Suddenly flood lights burst into life,
basking the moonlit quad in artificial sunlight. The Doctor froze like a deer in the headlights
as the alarm blared even louder, announcing his location. Doors began to fly open along the
upper walks and on either side of the Doctor.
The gate was so close.

The Doctor surged forward, sonic held out like the leading sword in a battle charge. Then a
cloud of sand erupted inches just from his speeding heels. Are they firing at me? He got his
answer a moment later as his hesitation paid him back with hit to the shoulder. He stumbled
heavily as the sheer force of impact brought him to the ground. He screamed in agony…but
not from a bullet. It hardly even broke skin. The Doctor rolled to his side and groped
frantically at his shoulder, yanking the small oval object from his skin, wincing as his body
jerked involuntarily. A Volt Bite. The Doctor’s eyes widened as he saw the two tiny barbed
teeth at the end of it, painted red with his blood and still live with sparks.

Sand jumped in the air as another volt bite struck too close for comfort. The Doctor forced
himself back to his feet and surged forward again. The screwdriver had been thrown from his
hand when he fell, landing a few inconvenient feet out of his path. The Doctor dove for it,
trying to ignore the sand now covering his entire body, caught in his hair and…other places.
The sonic’s buzz was drown out by the consistent shots and shouts indiscernible behind him.

Like some miracle, the gate began to gradually open. The Doctor could see the sand dunes
rolling away across the desert planet just beyond the walls. He was so, so close.

BANG

“AGHH!” Another Volt Bite struck him on the shoulder blades, followed quickly by one to
the thigh. The current, though lighter than the ones from the cattle prods, brought him down
quickly, earning him a mouthful of sand as he shouted out against the pain. He tried to force
himself up and was rewarded with another Bite to his lower back. All three sources tased
together, and to the Doctor’s horror he watched as the gate was swung shut again, right in his
face.

He struggled to tear away the Volt Bites that had lodged their way into his skin, but his
muscles simply weren’t obeying him. They twitched and convulsed and stretched against his
will. He tasted blood in his mouth and realized he must be biting his tongue. He tried to
control himself but the electricity was making his mind flash white, void of any capable or
successful thought. He was plunging further and further into unconsciousness. The only thing
keeping him fighting to stay aware was the realization that this would be their only escape
attempt. If he didn’t succeed tonight, he and Rose would be on their way to Eyal and any
hope of getting out as free people would be lost.

But no matter how hard he clung to that desperation, it was not enough. The Volt Bites were
doing their job, keeping him down without risking his life, and then suddenly the
excruciating pain was gone. The Doctor laid spread-eagle on the ground, panting, exhausted,
covered in sand. His limbs and muscles still refused to comply to his brain’s demands.

And then hands were grabbing him, hauling him upright and dragging him away from the
gate, away from his one chance to reach freedom. He couldn’t even fight them as he was
carried back into the outpost, hardly even aware of what was happening around him.
Everything was a blur.
He was dropped to his knees on some solid surface and held in place. A dozen pairs of feet
and legs swam before his blurred vision. One of them stepped out in front of the others and
reached for him. The Doctor winced as fingers tangled into his hair and yanked backwards so
he was forced to look up into the enraged face of Captain Ren.

Ren glared down at him for what felt like an eternity before finally speaking up. “How did it
get out?” His voice was deadpan and dangerous and the sudden change from how he’d been
in the office earlier made the Doctor actually worried. He may have complimented him on his
acting earlier on, but in this electricity-induced haze he couldn’t be so sure which Ren was
acting and which was real.

A faceless guard answered that no one was sure. There were no broken doors throughout the
building and the cell holding the female was still locked securely.

“Well find out!” Ren snapped. “And make sure it can’t happen again. I’m not losing this deal
with Eyal!”

The Doctor moaned as everything began to spin wildly with movement. Half the blurry
figures vanished as they ran off to find out how he had escaped. “Captain!” One of the men
holding the Doctor down called out. “We found this in his hand by the gate.” And the Doctor
watched in dread as the man passed over his Sonic Screwdriver. Ren studied the instrument
for a moment before pocketing it.

“Captain?” A familiar voice emerged from the crowed, eliciting a groan from the Doctor. “I
think I’ve had the most experience out of anyone at this outpost with this alien, and I can
assure you a simple scolding won’t stop it from disobeying. They only learn through
immediate punishment.” The blond man smiled balefully. “I could recommend something if
you need ideas…since it clearly enjoys being outside.”

The Doctor sighed with despair as Time ticked on, drawing close and closer to midday once
again. The sun was already high in the sky and powerful, it’s rays reach out and almost
touching, scorching, the sand below. He never thought he’d dislike the sun this much, but
after having spent twenty-four hours tied to a comm. pole at the center of the courtyard
beneath the glaring heat of the desert, he never wanted to see that exploding star again. His
skin cracked painfully as he tried to shift his weight. Sun blisters had already formed across
his bare chest, which was puffed up and red from too much exposure to the sun.

He coughed dryly as his throat contracted from lack of water. Usually a Time Lord could go a
week or more without a drop of liquid, where as most humans can only go two or three days,
but beneath this scorching sun and heat the water deprivation was taking its devastating toll.
He could no longer produce any sweat to protect his skin from burning and he could feel cells
throughout his body already beginning to die from their lack of nutrients. His head swam, his
brain pounding against his skull and producing a wicked headache. He tired to ignore the
painful heart palpitations as his hearts struggled to keep up with cooling his body down.
This…this was not fun.
Training exercises were going on across the quad. Occasionally a few men would look over
and laugh at him from beneath their sun-armor and visors. The Doctor moaned as he reclined
his head against the hot metal pole, hoping they would stop. It was bad enough he’d been
forced to strip down to only his boxers, but now they taunted him purposefully with their
water canteens and shade.

It had been exactly thirty-seven hours and twelve minutes since the escape had gone so
horribly wrong. He hadn’t seen Rose. He hadn’t heard a word about her. No one had had any
direct contact with him since, not counting the jeers from the officers across the yard. And to
make it worse, the sun was still climbing high, still getting hotter, still searing into the
Doctor’s way-too sensitive skin, causing his blood to boil and organs to fail. He felt
physically ill but there was nothing to throw up. It was misery and he had no idea how much
longer it was going to last.

And the Eyal ship would be arriving in just four more days.
 Chapter 9

A shadow fell across his body.

“Theta.”

The Doctor carefully peeled open a swollen eyelid, wincing at the brightness of the sun. A
figure had appeared before him, just a silhouette against the harshness of the light, staring
down at him expressionlessly with its arms hanging by its side. Squinting, the Doctor could
almost make out its features; they were young, boyish, with a sharp nose and clever yet
slightly mystified eyes. It was a face he’d seen many times back in those red fields of
Gallifrey playing beneath those twin suns. The Doctor almost even felt a smile forming on
his cracked and bleeding lips.

“K-Koschei?” His voice was so hoarse from dryness and lack of water it was barely even
discernable.

Koschei smiled like an old friend and the Doctor almost felt content, but then the smile fell
and Koschei was left wearing an accusatory glare. “No, Theta.” He said plainly. “Koschei’s
dead. You killed him, remember? Along with all of Gallifrey.”

The Doctor couldn’t believe the words coming out of his old friend’s mouth. The painful
allegations the Doctor knew only too well. He felt his hearts stutter at the sound of them
spoken by someone he’d once held dearest to them. “N-no…”

“It’s all your fault, you know?” Koschei drawled on. “You couldn’t save us. So you
destroyed us. You destroyed your own planet. Your own people. Your own family. Your own
best friend!” He hissed viciously, mercilessly, before drawing back, a hurt expression
suddenly on his ancient young face. “You’re only friend.”

“Pathetic.” Sneered a new voice the Doctor knew only too well. He’d heard it laughing
through the halls of the Academy, taunting his professors with his riddles and jokes. And
from behind Koschei stepped a young and innocent Theta, still dressed in the robes of the
Gallifreyan Academy. Like his best friend, Theta held no respite in his eyes for what he’d
become. “You were pathetic then and you’re pathetic now. You can’t even save the woman
you love from being sold into slavery. And you know what they’re going to do to her, right?”

“Don’t…p-please…”

Theta kneeled down in front of him so as to stare his older self straight in the eye. “Oh, of
course you know. Don’t lie. You can’t fool yourself. You’ve been fantasizing about it, too,
though maybe not in the same way. Tell me, how are you going to react when they rip her
open? How is she going to react to you when you let them?”

“I w-won’t!” The Doctor cried desperately. Why were they torturing him like this? Hadn’t he
suffered enough?
Koschei laughed manically and suddenly the Doctor saw the Master flash across the young
boy’s face. “What on Skaro are you going to do to stop them, huh?! You can’t do anything
right, you useless excuse for a Time Lord! How dare you call yourself the last of our kind!
You are not Time Lord, you half-blooded filth!”

“S-s-stop…”

“Aw, is the poor little alien not enjoying playtime outside anymore?”

The Doctor jumped, his eyes flying open. It was daybreak now, the sun shinning soft and
lightly down on the sand that was still cool from the night. The Doctor shivered as the chill of
early desert morning hit his hot skin, still burned and crisped from the fifty-five hours of
exposure to the elements.

Koschei and Theta were gone, falling back into oblivion along with the world they were from
and the innocence they once had. Instead a new figure had taken their spot, leering down at
the Doctor from his towering height. The weak rays of the new sun lit up the yellow ends of
his hair. The Doctor groaned, and it seemed that was all he was able to do. He tried to use
words but they just wouldn’t come. His vocal cords, for once, had given up.

“Good morning.” Blondie smiled gleefully. “You look terrible. I reckon you’re not feeling
one hundred percent either, are you?” The Doctor didn’t reply. He could hardly keep his eyes
focused on Blondie’s fuzzy form without black spots dancing across his vision. But he did
manage to growl in pain as Blondie grabbed his hair, pulling on his sunburned scalp. “I asked
you a question, alien.” He barked. “Were you paying attention?”

“Yhes…” It came out as more of a sigh than a word.

Blondie spoke as if he were talking to a child. “Do you want to spend some more time
outside?” He yanked a bit harder on the Doctor’s hair.

The Doctor tried and failed to shake his head within Blondie’s grasp. “N-n-no…” The Doctor
rasped.

“Good.” Blondie released him roughly. “Then ask me for forgiveness and we’ll bring you
back inside to be treated. Maybe get you some water, too. All you have to do is ask.”

Forgiveness. The Doctor had to ask for forgiveness. No, he knew what this man was trying to
get out of him…he had to beg for forgiveness. For something he thoroughly wasn’t sorry for.
If anything the bastard standing over him should be the one apologizing and asking for
forgiveness, not the one tied up to a metal pole and forced to sit in the hot sand beneath the
scalding sun for days.

Silence fell between them as the Doctor struggled just to breathe through the pain in his chest
and his own self-respect. Blondie frowned comically before shrugging and turning away.
“See you tomorrow, then.” He called over his shoulder as he left.

“W-wa-wait.” The Doctor groaned at his own weakness, but he couldn’t stay out there any
longer. He couldn’t handle the idea of those ghosts coming back to haunt him in the sun’s
glare again.

Blondie paused expectantly, keeping his back to his prisoner.

“I’m s-sorry. I was wrong t-to try to esc-cape. P-please.” The Doctor hated himself the
moment the words left his lips.

Blondie stared him down for a moment longer, expression unreadable. For one terrifying
moment the Doctor was sure his tormentor would just walk away and leave him there again,
ignoring his pleas. But then he reached for the radio at his belt and it cackled into life.
“Sredge, bring out a stretcher, a bottle of Cidocillin cream, and a canteen.”

A moment later the Doctor was cut free from the pole and heaved onto an uncomfortable
stretcher. His crisped skin was in agony as it was moved against the rough surface of the
canvas bed, but the Doctor gritted his teeth through it. A medic, who had arrived with the two
other officers who were carrying him, was helping pour water into the Doctor’s dry mouth
while rubbing some sort of lotion on his chest and neck. His breathing instantly improved and
the skin beneath the cream began to feel blissfully cool and protected. The water was like
liquid mercy but the medic was only allowing him to take small sips at a time with an
agonizingly long wait in between. The Doctor knew this was necessary to keep his stomach
from going into shock and rejecting it, but he felt like he would go insane every time he
stopped drinking.

Finally they made it inside to the air-conditioned post where the lotion on his upper body
began to feel like layers of ice frozen across his skin. It was the most incredible feeling.
However, by the time they reached the containment level the effects were already starting to
wear off. The heat radiating from his reddened skin cut through the coolness and the pain
started to set in again. The Doctor squirmed uncomfortably as breathing became difficult
again. He would have asked for more but suddenly found his voice had left him again. All he
could do was breathe and pray to not be jolted around too much as they navigated through the
halls and down the stairs.

The doors to the containment area were pushed open by the first guard’s back as they hauled
the Doctor’s stretcher in. Not long after the Doctor could hear the faint jingling of keys
before the clang of a heavy metal door being opened. His eyes had slid shut a while ago and
he felt neither the need nor the energy to open them again. He felt himself being lowered to
the ground, the hand that had been hanging over the edge of stretcher hitting the cool floor of
the cell. Then suddenly he was being rolled carelessly over the edge of the stretcher by
indifferent hands. The movement was misery. He felt a cry scrapping against his sore and
parched throat.

“What the hell did you do to him!?” A familiar voice shouted in rage. The Doctor’s hearts
leapt as he managed to peel one eye open and see a flurry of long, bright yellow hair flash
across his vision, along with the worried face of Rose Tyler. He tried to say her name but it
came out more like “Rsss…” than anything else.

The medic thrust the water canteen and the tube of lotion into Rose’s arms. “Rub this on its
burns until the redness lessens and make sure it drinks, but not too much all at once, do you
understand?”
Rose showed her understanding by ignoring the medic and falling to her knees beside the
Doctor, quickly popping open the lid to the Cidocillin cream and rubbing it gently into his
forehead and cheeks. The Doctor hadn’t even realized how bad his face had felt until he
could feel the relief of it.

The medic and officers left, carrying the stretcher with them, as Rose continued to stroke his
face comfortingly. “Doctor?” She asked cautiously.

“W-water…” Was the Doctor’s whispered response as he realized how desperate he was for
more. Rose jumped into action and brought the mouth of the canteen up to the Doctor’s lips,
carefully pouring in a small measure of the liquid. The Doctor moaned as it was taken away.

“What did they do to you?” Rose gasped in horrified disbelief as she looked him up and
down, taking into account the burned skin, the swollen and bleeding sun-blisters, the round
bruises on his torso where the Volt Bites had struck, and the raw wrists from being
continuously tied up for days.

“I’m fine…” The Doctor replied unpersuasively. “I’m fine, I’m fine, I’m fine.” He repeated
the mantra as if trying to convince himself as well. “I just-” Pause as he went to clear his
scarred throat. “Need…sleep it off. Keep rub…bing cream. Chest. Please.”

Rose was nodding frantically, even though his eyes were closed and she knew he couldn’t see
her. She took a large glob of the cream and began to apply it to his chest, rubbing it up into
his shoulders and down his arms next. The Doctor sighed with relief. “Do you want to move
onto the mattress?” Rose asked in hopes of making him more comfortable, but the Time Lord
just shook his head.

“No. Floor…cold. No m-moving.”

“Okay, alright,” Rose let him have another drink. “Just…just try to rest, I’ll be right here,
don’t worry.”

The Doctor smiled slightly and his dried lips cracked and began to bleed. “Thanks…
Rose….” Before he passed into oblivion, allowing his body to finally be able to heal itself.

Blondie, for once, was back on track with his usual work. Rather than tormenting that man (
What had he called himself? The Doctor? ) again when he couldn’t even get a laugh out of it,
thanks to him now being unconscious, Blondie decided to return to his set tasks. He was
lying on his back on a small mechanic’s gurney beneath one of the tank-carts with a torch, a
diagram, and an armband of useful tools. One of the Drephesh they’d ambushed earlier had
managed to land a blow on the underside of the machine, its jagged, primitive spear able to
bite straight through the wires and metal tubes of the hydraulic chambers. The team hadn’t
realized until they were speeding down a rocky hill and suddenly noticed they had no brakes.
The tank flipped at the base of the hill, but the machine was tough and so were the men
inside. This was the worst of the tank-cart’s ‘injuries’ and no one on board had been too
badly wounded or killed. Well, except for the responsible Drephesh who had been sitting
unharnessed in the boot and didn’t make it, but that wasn’t important enough to note.

The hydraulic tubes had been punctured straight through but were not completely irreparable
if you knew what to do. Unfortunately Blondie had almost no experience with vehicles of any
sort, having grown up in the slums just outside Lacapit, the capital of the nation. All he knew
were mud and guns, and fortunately one of them had been enough to get him the money
needed to get out. After that, his life became relatively normal for a young Republican of
Drephia, the political order he became an active member of before being sent to the Academy
of Sciences for what he thought was a thoroughly unnecessary education despite the brain he
tried to conceal behind his muscles. But either way, he’d never felt the need to become
familiarized with automobiles and space shuttles. Those were for elitists. He would rather rob
them than drive them.

Either way, the tubes had to be fixed or ordered out for new replacements, the cost being
subtracted from Blondie and his team’s payment, which was something Blondie, ever
infatuated with the need for money, would not tolerate. Somehow, some way, he would make
these hydraulics work again.

Suddenly Blondie felt someone grab his boot and pull him out from under the tank-cart. He
squinted against the sun as the wheels of the gurney rolled him next to Captain Ren’s feet.
The captain stared down at him for a moment before a small smile hit his lips, the ridges on
his nose rising slightly with the contortion.

“Crvas, just the man I was looking for. Can I have a quick word?”

Ren didn’t wait for a response as he pulled Blondie up to his feet. Blondie wasn’t really
complaining – he wasn’t getting any where with those tubes anyway, what would this minor
time set back hurt? He brushed the dirt off the back of his clothes before following Ren away
from the garage of tank-carts.

“Sure, what can I do for you, Captain?”

“I’ve been thinking about what you said the other night,” Ren glanced at him sideways as he
led the officer over to a shaded section against the post’s outer wall. “About the alien slave.
How you said you thought you knew it better than anyone else at this post.”

“Yes sir.” Blondie confirmed his superior belief.

“I was wondering if you could confirm whether or not it would be a useful asset to keep
around the post instead of selling. It seems smart, do you think there would be any work for it
here?”

Blondie considered for a moment. Yes, he enjoyed having the alien around for sport and a
good taunt after a long day out in the dunes, but on the other hand the Eyal was offering quite
a substantial amount of money for the pair of slaves. Slowly he began to shake his head. “No,
sir, I think the alien is more trouble than it’s worth. You saw what it did the other day with the
escape attempt.” And then suddenly Blondie felt a pang of suspicion. His eyes narrowed ever
so slightly so only the orange of his eyes could be seen. “Why are you interested in keeping
him around?”

Ren didn’t reply directly. Instead he looked off across the garage and out into the courtyard,
his eyes falling on the metal pole the Time Lord had been tied to not long ago. “And how is
the prisoner now?”

Blondie shrugged, still slightly skeptical. “Just a bit of sun-shock, should wear off soon along
with the burn.” He paused, running his tongue over his upper lip before decided to take the
risk. “Do you have such thing as sun-shock on your planet, Captain?”

Ren turned back to Blondie quickly and fixed him with a confused stare. “What?”

“Sun-shock. Is that a common ailment on your planet, too?”

The laugh came a fraction of a second too late to be completely convincing. “What are you
talking about, Crvas? My planet is your planet, of course we have sun-shock.”

Blondie shook his head. “No, no, Captain.” He said quietly. A small smile pulled at the
corner of his lips as he realized from the captain’s reactions that his guess had been correct. “I
mean your planet of origin. Earth.”

And finally Ren had nothing to say back. He stayed silent, staring at Blondie with a hard
glare that, to anyone out of context, would seem authoritarian but was actually more one of
sheer panic. More men milled throughout the garage, none listening in to the conversation
most likely, but appearances had to be kept up, despite the steadily rising heartbeat in Ren’s
chest. How did he know?

Blondie laughed with excitement at finally being the one in control. “You see,” He began to
explain. “Before I got expelled from the Academy for my violent tendencies, I studied
genealogy and interplanetary speciation. So I think I can spot a Homo Sapien amongst a
crowd Morsius Drephelias.”

Ren’s jaw was set. “Is that so?”

“Yes, sir. It’s a good disguise, mind you, can probably convince all the low-end grunts here,
but you’re naïve as hell if you think you’re getting away with it. Especially after that little
show you put on after finding out that female was human. Missing the comfort of your own
species, Captain?”

“And you know all this?” Ren managed to growl out passed carefully clenched teeth as he
felt his control slipping drastically.

“Yes.” Blondie retorted eagerly. And suddenly he couldn’t stop his bitterness and
speculations coming out in full force. He crossed his arms over his chest as he smiled
confidently. “And I also know that it’s quite a coincidence that the male decided to attempt its
escape during your last minute staff meeting.”
Again, Ren took a moment to respond. “Yes, very concurrent.” His voice was clipped.
“But see, I don’t think it was. I don’t think it was at all. And quite frankly, I’m not even
entirely sure which side you’re on, captain, not after you made the order not to alert Eyal of
their capture in the first place. That’s why I went ahead and did the honors.”

Ren smirked as he saw his way back in. “Disobeying your commanding officer’s direct
instructions while at it.” He said condescendingly. “Not a very clever move, Crvas.”

Blondie shrugged. “No, but how much longer are you going to be our commanding officer,
Ren?” He stepped closer so they were nose to nose. “You see, I’ve known for a long time
about your disadvantages but have kept my mouth shut because loosing the captain of this
relatively unimportant outpost never really played out to my advantage. But now that we
have Eyal’s attention, maybe they’ll – I don’t know – up the pricing on their offer for three
new slave stock instead of just two. It wouldn’t be hard to convince them of you treachery,
just need you to remove those clever contacts and ridge mask. What do you think, Captain?”

The smirk on Blondie’s face took a moment to melt into pure shock, suspending the moment
in time before he reeled backwards a step, looking down at the old-fashion gun blaster sitting
casually in Ren’s hand, smoking slightly, before addressing the growing red stain on his
stomach. He reached a hand down as if to test that it was true and his fingers came away
dripping bloody. Blood was already rising up the back of his throat, causing him to gag and
choke on the foul taste invading his mouth. He glanced up at Ren with his stunned and pain-
filled eyes before his knee suddenly gave out and he hit the sand, falling backwards as the
pain of it struck him all at once. And above him Ren was holding back a cruel smile as he
kneeled down by the side of Blondie’s deathbed and, lowering his lips to Blondie’s ear,
whispered,

“I think I don’t take well to threats, Officer Crvas.”

 Chapter 10

Ren passed an eye quickly, indifferently, over his work. Blondie lay shocked and gasping on
his back, rapidly bleeding out and staining the bright sand red. The man tried to talk but too
much blood had flooded into his mouth, effectively gagging him and causing him to choke
slightly with each strangled breath. It was a pitiful sight, but Ren held no pity for the sufferer.
This was nothing new. Ren had killed before. Done whatever it took to stay ahead in this
alien and unforgiving world. Threats had never been taken lightly, and this man would have
taken his advantage too far.

But now a side Ren had been suppressing for a long time was coming forth. His anger at
being stranded, his frustration at not being able to do anything about it, his constant fear of
being discovered. And it all mixed together to create, instead, cruelty. Could he, somehow,
make this man’s death worse?

He found his answer in words and he looked over Blondie’s injuries again, a small smile
playing at his lips. “Now, apparently, you’re a science man, Crvas.” He started quietly.
Blondie glanced up at him with wild, fearful, pained eyes. “Do you know what happens with
a belly wound? The bullet rips through the skin tissues and stomach pouch, allowing the
gastric acid to be released where it oozes into the open wound and other vulnerable systems
in the body. It’s like dipping a paper cut in a vat of acid and lemon juice, only a thousand
times worse, I’m sure. At least, that’s how it is for my species. I wonder if it will be as painful
a passing for yours.”

Blondie tried to say something, but all that came out was blood. He coughed and sent
speckles of it mixed with saliva across his own skin. Ren leaned down so he was glowering
into his old officer’s face, inches away from bumping noses.

“No one disobeys my orders and goes behind my back. No one threatens me. And no one will
lay a hand on the Doctor and Rose until he pulls through with his promise to me, do you
understand?” He didn’t wait for Blondie to choke out a response as he sneered viciously,
“You’ve always driven me insane, you know that? So have a long and slow death, Crvas. For
me.”

He stood and brushed the damp sand off his knees before realizing their little ‘conversation’
had attracted an audience. He glanced around quickly at the faces staring, blankly, at their
captain, all their orange eyes transfixed on what had just happened. Rat-Face was among
them, but his eyes instead were downcast on the struggling sight of his friend coughing
pointlessly against the rising oblivion. Ren didn’t even attempt to hide the gun in his hand as
he turned to his men and, steel in his contact-laden eyes, challenged, “Well? Does anyone
else have a problem with the way I run my outpost?”

His dare was greeted by silence for a moment before everyone quickly turned away, getting
back to work. Ren refastened his gun to his hip, smiling at how easy it is to get out of
anything in these parts. In this business, in this company, and this far away from regular
civilization, one is never just fired or arrested for anything. They are dealt with right then and
there, making Ren’s job of covering his tracks just that much cleaner…if that could be called
clean…

However, as the crowd dispersed and Ren uncaringly strolled out of the garage area and back
across the courtyard, one figure remained rooted to the spot. Rat-Face stared down his greasy,
pointed nose at Blondie still shaking and bleeding on the ground. Casting one quick look over
his shoulder he ran to his friend, crouching down beside him. “Crvas, what the hell did you
do?” He whispered harshly, still unable to believe what had happened. There was so much
blood, all of it coming from his teammate, and he doubted he had much time left. As
horrifying as it was, this sort of thing was not uncommon.

He hadn’t been expecting a reply from the man who was barely hanging onto life by a thread,
so when Blondie managed to cough passed the blood build-up in his throat and speak, Rat-
Face jumped with surprise. Blondie struggled but in the end was only able to get out one
weak word. “A….alien…”

Rat-Face looked around desperately as if some sort of miracle medical machine would appear
and save his teammate. “What do you mean? What did the alien do?”

Pain streaked across Blondie’s face as he tried to shake his head. It was getting harder to keep
his eyes open, harder to remind his lungs to inflate and his heart to beat. “No…” He managed
one more time. “’s lie…”

“What’s a lie?” He asked anxiously. “Did the alien tell Cap something?”

Blondie just gurgled as his body began to shut down.

Rate-Face wasn’t going to have ay of that. He grabbed the collar of Blondie’s red-stained
shirt, lifting him up slightly and shaking him. “What did it tell him?” He nearly shouted in his
desperation to understand what was going on. Had the alien planted some kind of lie in the
Captain’s head that would cause this to happen? Was it telepathic? Was it trying to turn the
captain against his crew? Captain Ren had always been quite distant from the men he
commanded but he’d always worked with more of a leniency and diplomacy than most in
charge. What could have possibly cause him to suddenly become violent against a man
everyone thought was in his good favors?

However, Blondie wasn’t responding. Rat-Face shook him again, realizing that if he didn’t
get any answers they could all be at risk of the alien’s manipulation. “What did it do?!” Still
there was no reaction. Blondie wouldn’t be having a reaction to anything anymore.

Rat-Face dropped the body and sat back, staring at the lifeless form of his teammate and …
friend? He felt a sudden rage boiling in side him at the sight, coupled with the throbbing
sensation of fear and uncertainty coursing through his system. But there were two thing he
was certain of: one was that whatever had happened between the Captain and ‘Crvas’ had
been that alien’s fault. That alien had the motive (Blondie having too much fun playing with
it, hurting it, humiliating it) and most likely the means (who knew what those creatures were
capable of? This wasn’t Eyal, they weren’t equipped to test and control these things).

And two, that the alien would pay for Blondie’s death. Both of the aliens. Dearly.
Indecision seemed to flood their cell as the Doctor’s body began continuously fluctuating
between being far too hot for his usual body temperature and far too cold, causing him to
shiver and shake where he lay. Rose watched from nearby, her knees pulled up to her chin,
unsure about what to do. There was nothing she could cover him with to give him some
warmth at those times for they had never been given a blanket of any kind and the Doctor
was practically naked, save for his sand-covered boxers. She wanted to hold him close, give
him some of her own warmth, but wasn’t sure if the movement and contact would cause more
harm than good. She remembered having sunburns before – though not anywhere near as bad
as these – from a vacation and remembered how painful and tender it was to touch.

Rose had no idea how long it’d been since the Doctor had been returned, she had no way of
telling, but it had at least been a couple hours. She had been awakened from a worried and
erratic sleep by the sound of the containment center’s door being thrust open and assumed it
was early morning, but in this windowless cell it was impossible to know.

Well, the Doctor would know. The Doctor always knew.

Rose was pulled out of her sleep-deprived trance – she’d barely closed her eyes since the
Doctor hadn’t returned three nights ago – at the sound of dry coughing beside her. The
Doctor’s eyes fluttered open slowly as he winced at scratchiness of his throat. He glanced
around, moving only his eyes until they landed on Rose, huddled by his side. He managed a
small smile.

“Hey.” He greeted hoarsely.

“Hey yourself.” Rose smiled back. “How’re you feeling?”

The Doctor tried to sit up but almost instantly gave up with a groan. “Sun-kissed.” He finally
managed with a grimace. Rose couldn’t help a small, nervous laugh.

“You’re going to have one helluva tan tomorrow.”

“And just in time for bathing suit season.” He joined her laugh, trying to ignore the
uncomfortable way his inflamed, tightened skin pulled with each crescendo. But it was better,
much better, than it had been earlier. He could breathe again without too much pain and
burning and much of his skin had already begun to turn from deep scarlet to pink. He
coughed roughly again. “Is there any water left?”

Rose nodded as she passed him the canteen, which was only half empty. The Doctor took a
few very careful, calculated sips before forcing himself to stop. The first gulp scraped
painfully against his raw throat but the rest were pleasantly, mercifully cool and refreshing.
Once he was done he passed the canteen back to Rose, who simply shook her head. “You
keep it, I already had some.” The Doctor quirked on of his eyebrows and set the bottle down
between them instead, on equal ground.

With an anticipatory sigh, the Doctor dragged himself up into a sitting position. His skin felt
hot and clammy at touch. Rose caught a look at his back, which was far more red and
untreated than the rest of his body – except for a six-inch stripe of white down his spine from
the pole.

“Here, roll over. I couldn’t get your back earlier.” She said, picking up the tube of cream the
medic had handed her. The Doctor rolled carefully onto his stomach so she could reach his
back, which felt like it had been cooking against the impartial stone floor of the cell.

Rose squeezed a substantial amount of the cream onto her hand and started massaging it into
the Doctor’s crimson-colored shoulders. The Doctor hummed contently as the medication
cooled and soothed the aching burn. “Been a while since I’ve had a massage.” The Doctor
commented with another small smile.

“Well, once we’re out of here I say we’re due for a vacation. We’ll find the universe’s
greatest massage parlor and all the banana daiquiris will be on me. Virgin though…We all
know how you get when you’re drunk.”

“Oi, that was one time! He had really long hair and it was dark, a completely reasonable
mistake that I’m sure anyone could have made.”

“You tried hitting on a tree, too, remember?”

“What, I liked its foliage.”

“That’s quite enough information, thanks.”

“You started it.” The Doctor retorted with a whine, sounding like a six year old in the
process. “Besides, I’m going to need a drink after this little adventure. Or maybe two.”

“Just don’t go and pull a Jack Harkness in Cabo, 2752 on me.” Rose scolded playfully. “I’ve
seen enough inter-animate marriages to last me a lifetime.” The Doctor laughed at the
memory.

“Okay, I’ll try not to marry any mailboxes, I promise.”

“Thank you.”

They sat in comfortable silence for a while. Rose had finally finished rubbing the cream in
and the Doctor folded his arms into a makeshift pillow, content to just lay there with his eyes
closed, enjoying the crisp cooling sensation on his skin. His healing would soon catch up
again and he’d be good as new in a few hours tops. Rose collapsed onto her back next to him,
staring at the ceiling.

“Did anything happen while I was gone?” The Doctor asked suddenly, fixing Rose with one
questioning eye. Rose sighed and shook her head.

“Nothing. They brought in some more of that absolutely revolting stuff they call food, but
other than that…nothing.” She shrugged with one shoulder so as to – unsuccessfully – hide
the shudder that ran through her. “Nothing.” She repeated, this time choking slightly. “I
didn’t know what happened. I just heard the sirens and shooting but they didn’t tell me
anything. I thought – I thought you might be –”
“Rose, hey, shhh…” The Doctor quickly pulled himself to his side so he was next to Rose
and looking down on her beautiful face. Her features showed how scared she had been. One
tear escaped her and she had no idea why. She hadn’t cried the whole time he’d been gone.
She had just sat and stared at the door, listening and waiting for any sign of her Doctor
returning. And suddenly it was crashing all around her like some giant cruel tidal wave. The
Doctor pulled her close into a hug, ignoring the way his skin seared at the contact. “I’m fine.
I’m right here, okay.” He reassured her quietly. “I’m right here. Nothing’s going to take me
away. I’m with you, always. Okay?”

Rose nodded into his bare chest. His skin felt pleasantly warm even though she knew it was
too hot for him. She knew she was probably hurting him and thought she should pull away,
let his burn settle without irritating it, but she didn’t want to. Three days she’d been without
him, not knowing what had become of him, and now he was back and holding her, proving he
was there. Why would she stop?

For a long time they stayed like this, the Doctor’s finally normalized double-heart beat
pounding through Rose’s ears soothingly. They needed this, both of them.

Because neither of them knew how much worse it was all going to get.
 Chapter 11
Chapter Notes

Warning: This chapter contains non-graphic depiction of rape. If this makes you
uncomfortable or is triggering in any way, please skip this chapter, send me a message,
and I'll fill you in briefly on what you missed plot-wise. Thank you, and happy reading!

The Doctor woke with Rose still curled up in his arms. He'd been sleeping so much more
than usual lately, but he still felt exhausted. His whole body was sore and stiff from staying
on the hard ground for the five hours since he'd been untied from that pole, not to mention
those long uncomfortable hours before. But despite that he was already starting to feel much
better. He rolled his shoulders back experimentally and discovered that his skin no longer felt
all that tender and tight. The road to recovery seemed pretty short now if they could only
keep out of trouble for a while…and by 'they' that meant, of course, the Doctor.

It was about midday now. The containment center was quite and still; the Drephesh must not
have come back since he left and he wondered worriedly what had become of them.
Carefully he untangled himself from Rose, trying not to jolt her awake as he removed his arm
from beneath her shoulders. She must have been even more exhausted than the Time Lord for
she barely even seemed to notice the movement.

The Doctor stood and stretched, enjoying his relative freedom after having been practically
immobile for roughly ninety hours. That was when he noticed the day-old bowl of uneaten
brown slop tucked away in the corner. The Doctor frowned. That meant Rose wasn't eating,
which was definitely not good. How long had she been on this fast? Since he'd left? He
shuffled over to the bowl and grimaced. If it was barely edible fresh then it definitely wasn't
edible a day later.

Then, with a curious frown, the Doctor picked up what had once been a spoon, although now
half of it had been rubbed away crudely. He looked quickly around the cell, eyes scanning all
four walls intently, before something on the bars caught his attention. Still holding the
'spoon', the Doctor tiptoed back by Rose over to the bars. One of them was very distinctly
narrower at the bottom than the others, with jagged slices sawed into the metal. The Doctor
smiled despite himself. Rose Tyler. Never gonna give up, are you? And sure enough, when he
places the edge of the 'spoon' in the slot, it fit perfectly.

The gash, however, was not very deep into the bar, falling at about a quarter of the way
through. Barely visible metal filings dusted the ground around it. Rose must have been
working on it the whole time but, as the Doctor proved as he tugged with all his depleted
might on the bar and it didn't budge, the metal was tougher than it looked.
He shrugged and returned the 'spoon' to the filled bowl before plopping back down on the
floor. There was really nothing much else to do. He was already beginning to feel a bit bored,
to be honest. No sonic, no plan, no conscious Rose. He could try formulating a new escape
plan, but unless he really wanted to saw away at the metal pole for another day or two he
wasn't seeing many fantastic options. And he doubted Ren would be interested in helping
them again. As much as the Doctor appreciated his assistance, it was obvious the man was
only looking out for himself and putting his own well-being before others. The Doctor didn't
really blame him, though; in this part of the universe they take survival of the fittest to its
extreme definition. For a human to have survived out here for so long all on his own was
incredible and, quite frankly, terrifying.

He heard the footsteps before they reached the outer door. With an annoyed sigh, the Doctor
forced himself to his knees, shuffling over a few feet to where Rose was still laying cured up
on the floor. He gently began to shake her shoulder and she jolted back to consciousness as if
she'd been struck with a bolt of lightening. "What? What happened?" She immediately began
stammering, grabbing hold of the Doctor's outstretched arm as if it were what was pulling her
back to awareness.

"Nothing," The Doctor whispered back quickly to calm her. "We just have some visitors."

As if on cue the door to their hallway was thrown open. The Doctor counted three pairs of
swift, heavy, angry-sounding footsteps. He helped Rose to her feet just as a livid Rat-Face
came hurdling into view, followed by two men the Doctor couldn't remember meeting before.
Neither of them looked like they were about to ask the Doctor and Rose out on a double-date.

The Doctor was becoming quite good at forcing smiles on his face. Then again, he'd always
been good at that. Now he was just mastering the art. "Oh, lovely." He allowed a bit of
sarcasm and distain color his otherwise cheerful words. "So nice to see you again!" He
glanced around and realized what was missing. "So where's your yellow-headed friend? It's
not a party without a blondie, am I right, Rose?"

That was not the right thing to say. Rat-Face scowled, anger and resentment suddenly painted
his features. The two guards didn't look amused in the slightest either. Faster than the Doctor
could have thought, one of them drew out a strange gun and fired on the spot.

The Volt Bite plowed into the Doctor's shoulder, sending him flying backwards into the back
wall. The electricity shattered the pain barriers he'd been resetting since waking up, and he
felt himself jerking, shouting out more in surprise of the pain than the actual pain itself.
Dimly, through slit eyelids, he saw Rose running for him. "D-DON'T!" He shouted through
the pain, stopping her from touching him before the current could be transferred to her body.

The electricity vanished just as the cell door was unlocked and Rat-Face and his men barged
through. The Doctor stayed slumped against the wall, breathing heavily, Rose hovering
nearby unsure what to do. One of the men grabbed Rose around the middle and dragged her
away from the Doctor as Rat-Face stormed up to him. He grabbed the Doctor by his ruffled
and slightly singed hair and used it to drag him up and basically throw him into the other
guard. The Doctor was to stunned by the sudden attack to really do anything, and by the time
he had recovered the man had already snapped a cold metal handcuff on one of the Doctor's
wrists.
"What did I do this time?" The Doctor asked, genuinely curious. He hadn't even had time to
cause any trouble since his last punishment had been dealt out. He got no response – well,
unless you count the man's fist slamming into his stomach. The Doctor doubled over, thrown
off balance as he lost his breath, meaning the man didn't really have to use as much force as
he did to shove him backwards. The Doctor collapsed into the bars, and with expert speed the
man twisted the length of the handcuffs through the metal posts and secured the Doctor's
other wrist in place, pinning him to the wall.

"Get off me!" Rose tried to force her way out of the guard's grip but he held her fast. Rat-
Face stalked over to the Doctor, anger causing his limps to shake, and backhanded him
viciously across the face.

"Owwwww!" The Doctor dragged it out in indignation, wincing at the stinging in his cheek.
"Again, what exactly did I do this time? Because I honestly don't know, so you're going to
have to fill me in."

"DON'T PRETEND!" That outburst shut the Doctor up. He stared, frozen, up at the man who
he suddenly realized had a strange desperation hidden behind him reddened, wild eyes. He
looked insane, mad. It seemed to take everything within him to calm himself down, and once
he had he spoke again, glaring daggers at the tied up Doctor. "Don't pretend you don't know
what you did."

The Doctor shared a quick glance with Rose, neither of them quite sure what Rat-Face was
shouting about. "I'm….sorry?" The Doctor tried questioningly. "But –"

"NO!" Rat-Face interrupted him suddenly, pulling out a wicked looking knife. "No! I don't
want to hear your apologies. You'll get yours in a minute. I just want to know how!"

The Doctor nodded enthusiastically with his eyes never leaving the tip of the knife. "Yes, of
course, so would I." He said in the calmest voice he could muster. "Maybe if you told me
what I did I could tell you how I managed to do it without knowing…"

"How did you do it?!" Rat-Face shouted as he dropped down beside the Doctor, eyes
spinning with crazed anger. The knife came to rest dangerously close to the Doctor's throat.
"How did you kill him? What did you say?" He was breathing hard now, adrenaline driving
him forward like a missile.

The Doctor, however, was shocked into stammering. "W-What? Kill? When – w-who did I
kill?"

His bona fide confusion unfortunately did not convince Rat-Face. "CRVAS!" He shouted,
spittle striking the Doctor's puzzled face. "He hurt you and you wanted him dead and you
didn't even have the courage to do it yourself, you pathetic cowardly freak!"

"Crvas?..." The Doctor hadn't been listening, his mind trying to piece together the puzzle.
"OH! You mean Blondie! Oh…wait, he's dead?" The question was asked more out of surprise
than sorrow. Despite his usual appreciation towards all life, the Doctor really couldn't bring
himself to feel sad about his tormentor's death, however it had been brought on.
Suddenly Rat-Face was laughing. It was maniac, insane, absolutely out of the building. And
now the Doctor was scared. He'd heard that kind of laugh before; It's the kind of laugh you
have when you're trying desperately to hold back another, all-powering emotion, it's the laugh
you have when you're trying to justify the fear and drive of your actions.

"You don't even have the courtesy to admit it. You don't even have the morality to know your
victim's name. You don't even have the decency to go through with it yourself, you make
someone else do it for you. Well you know what? I'm going to throw it back in your face!"
He pressed the knife into his skin just enough to draw a thin line of blood before pulling it
back, bouncing to his feet. "I'm going to make someone else feel the pain for YOU!"

He turned to the man still holding Rose, who had been frozen out of her struggling by the
encounter. With a look the man released her, shoving her forward, positioning her in front of
Rat-Face in the center of the room. The Doctor felt his hearts constrict as Rat-Face
approached her predatorily. He pulled harshly on the cuffs securing him to the bars, but
nothing happened. "Wait, wait, please." He called out, but it fell on deaf ears. "Obviously
there's been a misunderstanding. Just – Just leave her alone and talk to me about it. We can
figure this out. Please!"

But Rat-Face was no longer listening. He licked his lips, thump running over the handle of
his knife as he held it up in Rose's direction. The girl eyed it nervously, beginning to back up
until his shoulders hit the guard, who sniggered and shoved her forward once again. Rat-Face
eyes her up and down with those hungry, beady eyes. "Oh, I've been wanting this for
a long time." He more or less moaned. The Doctor struggled harder against his bonds and felt
the edge of the sharp cuffs cut into the first few layers of his skin. They already felt raw. Rat-
Face grabbed Rose's arm in a vice-like grip and pulled her in closer to him so she was pressed
against his body and planted a hard, bruising kiss on her lips. It took Rose a fraction of a
second to overcome the surprise of the movement before she managed the slap him across
the face. Rat-Face reeled back from the blow before growling and swiftly returning the favor.
His hand struck her across the cheek and sent her staggering into the shelf-like bunk they'd
been given as a bed. She managed to catch herself on the edge instead of striking the ground.

Rat-Face spit off to the side, his saliva slightly tinged with blood. Apparently the force of
Rose's slap had caused him to bite his tongue. He looked even more acrimonious than before
as he raised the knife in her direction. "Strip." He ordered in a deadly dangerous tone.

Rose glanced up at him, horrified, now sporting a split lip. The Doctor trashed against the
restraints. "NO! Please!" He shouted desperately, trying to get through to the enraptured man
before him. "Your quarrel is with me and whatever I did, please, leave her out of this! She
has nothing to do with whatever happened! Please!" But Rat-Face still ignored him.

"NOW!" He shouted at Rose as she hesitated.

But the blonde wasn't going to give in, that much was clear. She pushed herself up and
squared her shoulders, staring Rat-Face clear in the eye as she shook her head. "N-no." The
slight tremble in the word gave away just how scared she really was.

Rat-Face lurched forward, pinning Rose between the bunk and himself, bringing the knife up
to her jugular. She whimpered as his long, dirty fingers tightened around her throat. "You can
either do this alive, or bleeding to death, I have no preference." He hissed into her ear and
pressed the blade down into her skin as she whimpered again, letting the fear in. "What will it
be?"

"Rose." She looked up at the Doctor from where he strained against the cuffs. His voice had
been forcibly calm, tinged with worry and fear and anger, but purposefully quiet and
composed. That's what scared her the most and sent a shiver down her spine. She had heard
that voice before, and she had never liked the situation much in which it had been used in the
past. She liked this one even less. But she looked up at him nonetheless and was rewarded
with a small, pained nod. His eyes, his impossibly old, sorrowful eyes, bore into her
pointedly, practically screaming his guilt as they told her to do what the man said.

Rose nodded back to him as one stray tear escaped down her bruised cheek. Excruciatingly
slowly, she raised her hands to her blouse and began unbuttoning the lower buttons.

Rat-Face laughed and spun back to the Doctor, keeping the knife trained on Rose. "That's
right, Doctor," He hissed viciously. "Reassure her. Tell her everything is going to be all right.
Let her know that this is YOUR fault. That you did this to her." The Doctor felt his eyes slide
shut in shame and saw the looming figure of his past standing over him once more. Pathetic.
Worthless. Freak. "NO!" A hand grabbed him by the hair and slammed his head backwards
into the bars, forcing his eyes open. Stars danced in the space before him as he realized the
second guard must have been standing right behind him in the hallway. The fingers stayed
wrapped around his hair, keeping his head pulled up and his eyes fixed on Rat-Face.

"You will not close your eyes. You will not look away. You will watch your punishment and
know that you can do nothing to stop it!" Rat-Face shouted with fire.

The Doctor was forced to watch in horror as Rat-Face began to undo his belt. He started
struggling again, wrenching at his wrists, feeling the blood begin to flow out from the cuts
but barely registering the pain. Rat-Face was pushing a terrified Rose backwards against the
hard bunk. She was shaking visibly as Rat-Face towered over her, soaking in the glory of
what he was about to finally accomplish. The Doctor knew. This was only partially about his
punishment for something he didn't even do, which made the situation even that much worse.
Rat-Face was enjoying it too much.

He heard a soft snicker from behind him as the guard holding him alert began to laugh at the
situation. Thus far neither of the men had said a thing, but the Doctor's hatred for them was
now almost paralleling that for Rat-Face. The Doctor twisted and turned in any way he could
to get out of cuffs and he heard Rose's first heartbreaking cry of pain as Rat-Face forced his
way in. "No! Please!" The Doctor's cry was almost just as heartbreaking, rewarding him with
another bashing from the guard behind him. He felt a current course through him
momentarily as the cattle prod was pressed against his back, temporarily silencing him.

He was forced to watch as the man enjoyed himself, as the thrusts became faster and deeper,
as Rose's whimpers became even more heart wrenching. She had tried to talk once, had tried
to beg him to stop, but now Rat-Face had a hand clamped over her mouth as he growled into
the ear he was biting on. "You're a whore. That's all you are and this is all you're good for,
and your words are meaningless slut-speak." The Doctor saw traitorous tears streaking down
her face and marveled at how little she was crying compared to him, whose cheeks were
flooded with his desperation just as his wrists gushed from being slashed open by the
handcuffs and bars. He didn't want to watch any more. He didn't want to see, didn't want to
hear, didn't want to smell. But he kept his eyes open – not because of the man behind him
forcing him to – but kept them trained on Rose's, which were screwed shut against the pain
and shame as that disgusting, greasy, pointy-faced man used her. He would be there for her, if
she needed him. He would be there to remind her she was not alone. He knew what it felt like
to be on her side of it – the memories threatening to bombard and overwhelm him in that very
moment – and he had never wished so much in his entire nine hundred years that he could be
switching places with her right now.

Now Rat-Face was the only one speaking, the only one able to passed the fear and pain and
disgust as he sneered even more blatant insults at Rose and the Doctor. They went unheard as
the Doctor struggled even harder against the cuffs, wanting to rip Rat-Face's throat out and
watch him gag for air through the wave of blood that would flood into his system and lungs,
wanted to watch him suffer like he had never wanted anyone to suffer before. Not even the
Daleks. So much so that he didn't even notice as he practically shredded his hands into
uselessness, the sharp edge of the cuffs now pressing against his tendons as they continued to
dig in.

With a loud, disgusting moan, after what felt like an eternity, Rat-Face finally finished. He
stayed like that for a minute, boneless as he panted through the euphoria, before viciously
unsheathing himself. Rose wasted no time as she allowed herself to slip onto the floor,
curling up into a protective ball with her back to the rest of the cell. Her shoulders shook as
she buried her face in her knees.

Rat-Face cleaned and tucked himself back in before picking up Rose's deposited clothes and
tossing them back at her. "Get dressed." He snapped, continuing to enjoy his authority and
control. Rose didn't move to obey. Rat-Face waited till he had left the cell, locking it securely
behind him, and then he gave the order to uncuff the Doctor before he tore his hands to
nothing. The Doctor barely heard the click of the cuffs unlocking before he was launching
himself forward, nearly tripping over his own feet in his haste to reach Rose. Nor did he hear
the men laughing and joking about as they slammed the containment center door shut behind
them.

The Doctor collapsed to his knees beside his companion's trembling body and suddenly
hesitated. The moment his fingers brushed the skin of Rose's shoulder she flinched harshly, a
sob wrecking through her body. Guilt threatened to completely destroy the Doctor as he
tasted bile rising in the back of his throat. He swallowed it down painfully. "Rose…" His
voice felt and sounded raw as he struggled to control it. "Rose, it's me. It's just me." He
realized he was also trembling as he raised his hands cautiously to hover a few inches above
Rose's bare shoulders. His wrists and arms were slicked with bright red blood. "I'm…I'm
going to touch your shoulder, is that alright?"

He thought he saw Rose nod slightly and so, very carefully, he placed his hand gently against
her skin. This time she didn't flinch at his touch, but rather seemed to shift towards it, never
moving from her position. The Doctor took the invitation and cautiously wrapped his arm
around her, pulling her in. Rose practically collapsed into his hold and suddenly she was
opening crying, clutching at his bare chest as it suddenly all came out. And the Doctor just
held her, held her as tightly as he could, wishing he could just absorb her pain and
humiliation through the contact, to spare her from it.

Eventually her sobs quieted down. The Doctor's chest was damp with tears now, matching his
cheeks. Unwillingly, he looked down at her and felt his face flush with embarrassment and
guilt. "Rose…" He whispered again into her hair. "You're bleeding."

And to his ultimate surprise, Rose laughed. "S-so are you." She hiccupped quietly, her voice
almost inaudible. The Doctor even managed a short laugh as, for the first time, he really
registered that his hands were both bleeding profusely.

"Well," He said, still laughing slightly despite himself. "Look at that." Even Rose's trembling
had changed as she repressed a sad giggle. Maybe, just maybe she was going to be alright.
Rose Tyler…still the strongest person the Doctor had ever met.
 Chapter 12

Soon after, however, was when things began to change. It was like the fact of what really
happened had finally set in. The Doctor cautiously offered to look over Rose's injuries, to
make sure there was nothing too severe, but she suddenly refused. It was like a switch had
flipped. She shoved the Doctor away and quickly started to redress herself, never looking at
the Doctor and shying away when he stepped closer to help as she struggled with her shaking
hands to button on her blouse. Then she went and sat on the other side of the small cell,
curling her knees up to her chest protectively, leaving the Doctor standing confused and
alone. For the first time in a long time he was completely unsure of what to do. He felt
entirely helpless.

Rose placed her chin on her knees and stared at the ground a few feet in front of her. A
painful silence stretched between them. Suddenly Rose felt a shiver run through her body and
her face contorted with pain. Her adrenalin was wearing out, her pain receptors losing their
shields and letting the full force of the flood come through. It broke the Doctor's hearts even
more. "Rose, please." He tried to say reassuringly. "Let me help you." Help you physically,
psychologically, any way that could possibly lessen the poisonous guilt turning his insides on
fire.

But Rose just snorted and turned her head away. "Yeah, like you helped back there?" Her
voice was raw, flat, and although the words were whispered and barely audible, they felt like
a wrecking-ball to the gut. The Doctor suddenly felt like there was no air left in the
world. No, no, Rose, don't do this. This is exactly what he was trying to cause…

But the Doctor just nodded minutely, knowing she was right. He could have helped. He could
have fought harder. But the moment that knife was pressed against her throat, the moment he
had seen his eyes and had know he would do it – he would kill her if he had to in retribution
for Blondie's death – the Doctor had frozen. He couldn't let that monster kill her right in front
of him, so he let him violate her instead. In hindsight, the most selfish decision he had ever
made, and he hated himself. Hated himself more then he ever had in all nine hundred plus
years of his life. Hated himself more than when he'd destroyed his own planet to stop the war
from destroying the whole universe. Hated himself more than he hated the man who had
assaulted his Rose. And all he could muster was a useless, pathetic, "I know. I'm sorry. I'm
so, so sorry, Rose."

"That's all you can ever say, isn't it." She voiced quietly, still refusing to even look in his
direction. "Maybe you should try not doing stuff that warrants an apology."

The Doctor felt like his knees were about to give out so he quickly sat down, getting down on
even level with Rose, sitting cross-legged a few feet in front of her as her entire body tensed
with his close proximity. Still her eyes stared determinedly away. "Please, Rose," The Doctor
begged, "Just look at me."

She refused. He felt himself deflate, his shoulders slumping in complete despair, as he caught
a glimpse of her glassy red eyes as she stared sightlessly at the wall. The seconds of silence
pressed against them like a physical barrier, like the matching poles of a magnet trying to
repel them, the force of Rose's fear and shame and the Doctor's guilt pushing against each
other until the Doctor could almost feel himself being pried away. But he dug his heals in, so
to speak, refusing with every fiber of his incredibly stubborn self to back down and let the
theoretical wall become a reality. He ran a shaky hand through his hair, wincing at the
movement, until his brown locks stood straight up, before returning his hands to his lap. Only
then did he realize how much blood was still oozing out of the binding wounds. The skin
around his wrists were stained a bright orangey-red, which dripped down his arms onto his
crossed legs below, sliding down to form a small pool beneath him on the stone floor. He
should have been thinking about wrapping them somehow as he stared at them, stopping the
blood flow before he'd lose too much and inevitably fall unconscious, maybe even die.
Regeneration, of course, was always an option at least. But no, instead he wondered through
the burning of unshed, frustrated tears behind his eyes why he hadn't just allowed the edges
of the cuffs to bite clean through his skin and tendons and muscles and bones until he was
free and able to do something. A hand would have been a small loss compared to what it
could have prevented. He had lost a limb protecting her (and all of Earth) before, and he
would gladly lose even more again.

A sharp, shaky intake of breath shattered his thoughts and he jerked his head up to focus on
Rose instead. She was shaking her head faintly as she fought to keep her breath in check,
biting her lower lip, her eyes quivering ever so slightly from the effort of repressing even
more tears. She was still looking away, and so the Doctor barely even heard her as she
whispered brokenly, "How could I?"

The Doctor's mind could decipher her halting question in two different ways. Either she was
referring to his request of asking her to look at him, and her newfound hatred for him couldn't
allow her to even spare him a glance (He hated that theory). Or she was referring to the
earlier incident, the blame bouncing around once again like a pinball and landing on the one
person who should never have even qualified for consideration (He hated that theory even
more).

"Rose…"

He was interrupted by a horrified sob. "I j-j-jus-st…l-let-t-t…."

"No, no, no, no, no…" The Doctor whispered, mortified, as he pushed himself forward onto
his knees, leaning closer to the shuttering blonde fighting for air as her throat constricted
painfully. She leaned further back into the wall subconsciously, away from him, but her eyes
shot cautiously in his direction. He latched onto those watery brown eyes like a life-preserver
and tried to drag them up out of the water they were drowning in. "Let's just go back to
blaming me, okay. That was much more fun, right?" He encouraged her honestly. "Come on,
shout at me again. Glare at me. Ignore me. Give me the cold shoulder. Punch me in the face.
Claw my eyes out. Just…just be mad at me, don't you dare turn this on yourself." He realized
just how desperately he did want to absorb the blame; as if he wasn't worth pardoning – I'm
not. He had so many more faults, so much more blood on his hands that he almost welcomed
another just to keep her from experiencing what he felt every day.
But Rose didn't move. She didn't rise to any of his suggestions. She just stared at him sadly,
as if he were the one who didn't understand, and then infinitesimally began to shake her head.
She opened her mouth to speak but the Doctor jumped in. "No!" His voice was so
commanding now Rose jumped. "Do not do this. This is not your fault."

A single tear slid down her cheek as he willed her with his unwavering stare to agree, the last
remaining drop from the reservoir now nearly all dried up. But still she shook her head. "If I'd
j-j-just…"

The Doctor growled with frustration and suddenly flopped down so he was laying on his
stomach, head facing Rose, and rolled over onto his back, not knowing how else to express
the frustration he was feeling without grabbing the terrified girl by the shoulders and shaking
her out of her ridiculous self-imposed blame-game championship. He tore at the edges of his
hair as a sudden flame of anger erupted within him. At himself, at Rose, at whatever, he
didn't know, but it was there and he suddenly felt like punching something hard and painful.

Rose looked on worriedly, wondering what her madman was doing now, trying to follow his
consistently jumping thoughts and figure out why he was writhing on the floor. She was
usually so good at reading him, but right now the buzzing in her ears and the
pain everywhere made it almost impossible.

Finally the Doctor flipped back over, his eyes flashing black the way they did when the
Oncoming Storm brewed beneath his skin, and slammed his fist into the ground like a gavel.
"You were raped, Rose." He stated pointedly, the blatantness of his words slamming into her
like a wall of freezing water. His voice, however, was even and solid and demanding she
realize what that meant. "You were taken against your will and held down and hurt and
you cannot trick yourself into mistaking trying to survive for cooperation and consent." He
sighed heavily, spent from the outburst, and let his forehead rest on the cold ground, cooling
his still flaming-hot skin. After a few heaving breaths to slow his hearts rate he spoke again,
not lifting his head.

"When someone holds you at gun point, everyone knows the best thing to do is just hand over
the wallet and back away. You did what you had to do to survive, and don't let anyone tell
you different, especially yourself. Do you understand me?"

After a frozen second Rose began to nod hesitantly, eyes still staring in surprise at her friend
laying spread-eagle on the floor with his face pressed into the ground. Then she realized he
couldn't actually see her nodding. "Y-yeah."

The Doctor nodded back without lifting his head. He stayed where he was, flopped on the
ground, and in any other situation his position could have almost been comical. The Doctor
stayed silent then, the only movement being in his back as her breathed heavily, as if he had
been physically fighting. Rose stared at him for a while, noticing absently how his wrists had
were still bleeding and the skin beneath his hair was still lobster-red from the sun. But after a
minute of silence she let her forehead drop down into the cradle of her arms, her knees still
pulled up against her chest. Exhaustion hit her hard, the kind of exhaustion that was so strong
and present it was almost impossible to fall asleep with. She glared into the darkness created
by her arms when suddenly the Doctor began to speak again, his voice hollow and flat and
gravelly, as if he were speaking more to himself in his sleep than consciously out loud.
"I promised to protect you and I couldn't and I'm sorry. I know I keep saying that and those
five dumb letters don't mean a damn thing, but they're the only thing keeping me from
reaching into my own chest and pulling out my hearts to finally end the pain. Because if I
can't protect you then what is the point of me?" Rose didn't answer as he paused, trying to
breathe again. He cleared his throat determinedly. "But I'm not going to end it. Because I'm
never allowing this mistake again. I'm going to protect you, Rose Tyler, because I'd rather
live with this endless poison burning me up from the inside out for a thousand billion more
years than to see you in any pain for even more than a second. So you can be mad and you
can hate me and you can push me away if you want, but I'm not going to budge."

Two long, agonizing minutes accompanied the end of his miniature growled speech as he
continued to lie on the ground as if he hadn't just spoken. His hands had balled into furious
fists as they pressed against the floor. Finally Rose hiccupped softly to clear her throat and
stated in the most normal tone she could muster, as if it were the most obvious and ordinary
thing she had ever said, "I can't hate you, Doctor. I love you."

The Doctor stopped breathing. His hearts stopped beating for a second as his brain stopped its
whirling long enough to recognize and interpret the meaning of those three incredibly human
words. Then finally with a quick, shallow, shaky breath he lifted his head and neck up just
enough to meet Rose's eyes and fix her with a look that told her everything.

Not long after Rose finally fell into a light sleep, curled up on her side against the wall. The
Doctor had seen the way her eyes were drooping with exhaustion – the day had been too
filled with physical and emotional trauma and was better left behind – and asked if she
wanted to move onto the bunk. But she quickly cast the shelf a disgusted, horrified look and
suppressed a shudder as she shook her head no.

The Doctor understood immediately. And as soon as she had fallen into blessed
unconsciousness the Doctor stood and tore the thin mattress off the shelf, disgusted to see
sweat and blood and other fluids dampening it. He ripped a line of the covering fabric off
before tossing the whole mattress through the bars of their cell into the hallway outside,
aiming his throw so the offending object slid down the hall and out of immediate view. Then
he took the strips of fabric and wrapped them tightly around his wrists, tying them off tightly
with a grimace of pain. He was beginning to feel lightheaded and sleepy and knew he had
treaded dangerously close to bleeding out. But his body would replenish the supply soon, his
regenerative energy already at work, causing his skin to glow slightly gold as the magic
happened beneath his skin.

He collapsed down the wall a few feet from Rose's side and forced his eyes to stay open. His
body and mind had gone through so much punishment recently and he ached to fall into a
healing coma, both mentally and physically. But he fought off the weariness and instead
opted to watch Rose breathing evenly, almost peacefully, by his side. He took the time to look
her over, marking each finger-shaped bruise around her throat and wrists and the congealed
blood on her ear and neck from where he had bitten too hard and broke skin with the rising
heat of anger. He harnessed that and stored it away, deep within the recesses of his mind. He
had no use for the boiling rage now and it would only make him do something stupid and
regretful.
But the lid had barely closed on Pandora's mental box when he heard the containment center
door slide quietly open. Smooth, steady footsteps came down the hall with the unmistakable
sound of combat boots. The Doctor jumped to his feet, making sure not to make any noise
with the movement and risk waking Rose as he moved to stand between her and the bar. A
man appeared on the other side, skirting cautiously and curiously around the discarded
mattress blockading half the hallway, dressed just as everyone else in the Drephesh Outpost
fatigues. The Doctor felt his scowl grow. "Where's the Rat?" He growled threateningly as the
man got closer, feeling his rage for that Rat-Face'd monster burning its way through his
system again with renewed vigor, creating a sour taste at the back of his throat.

The man – or rather, the Doctor realized with a start, the boy (he looked no older that an
eighteen year old human would) – took a step back as he became the unwarranted and
unfortunate focus of the Time Lord's fury. He took an almost indiscernible step backwards as
he made eye contact with the Doctor and became mesmerized and terrified of the burning
black glare the found within those ancient orbs. He opened his mouth as if to say something,
closed it, swallowed, and instead just shifted the bundle in his arms. That's when the Doctor
noticed that he'd been carrying in quite a bit of stuff. He saw two bowls of their usual gross
meal (the Doctor's stomach growled anyway with hunger as the healing took its toll), two
canteens of water, a pinstriped bundle of what had been the Doctor's clothes, and, to the
Doctor's utter surprise, two blankets, a bottle of what looked like medical disinfectant, and a
rolled-up wad of clean bandages.

The Doctor's expression instantly softened, his eyes returning to their usual kind brown
depth. This boy had absolutely nothing to do with what had happened and the Doctor had no
right angling his anger towards him; he was only doing his job, and right now that included
bringing the Doctor and Rose some very essential items. The Doctor tried to smile and hoped
it looked like his usual convincing mask. "I'm sorry, it's been a rough week."

The boy just nodded slowly and seemed to relax a little bit, but he kept a wary orange eye on
the Doctor all the same, who continued to smile. "I'm the Doctor, what's your name?" The
boy didn't seem like he had the same superiority complex as the rest of the outpost members,
nor the arrogance. In fact, he seemed almost childlike, a bit nervous but eager. Not nearly like
a bad person, simply…a boy. The Doctor felt a pang of pity run through him as he realized
these traits would soon be driven from him by the hatred of these people.

After a moment, the boy finally responded. "Tenre."

"Thank you, Tenre." The Doctor said as he nodded towards the supplies in the boy's hand.
Tenre lips formed on 'O' as he seemed to suddenly remember again why he'd been sent in in
the first place. He knelt down so he could place the objects on the floor before handing them
through the bars to the Doctor one at a time. The Doctor graciously accepted each item
passed to him.

"So where are you from?" He asked conversationally but quietly enough so as not to wake
Rose.

Tenre looked startled by the casual question, nearly dropping the bottle of disinfectant. After
he scrambled to pick it back up he cleared his throat. "A small town just outside of Lacapit…
that's the capital city." He explained quietly as he passed the bottle through. The Doctor
smiled.

"Yes, I've been to Lacapit once before. A long, long time ago in the future. It was nice –
well…at least at the time it was. Didn't find myself behind bars that time. Well, actually,
that's sort of a lie…" He scratched his head as he tried to remember exactly what had
happened, but it had been a few hundred years ago, so his memory was a bit blurry. Suddenly
with a jolt he realized Tenre was still there, watching him curiously, holding out one of the
bowls of slop. The Doctor shook himself out of his memories. "So do you miss it? Still got
some family over there?"

Tenre shrugged, seeming far more casual now. "It was okay I suppose. But no – no family.
Not any more, at least."

The Doctor felt another pang of pity hit him as the boy turned away his eyes, the topic
obviously taking an unwanted turn. "So!" The Doctor exclaimed as he examined the
bandages he'd been passed. "You joined the post. Had it always been a life goal of yours to
end up in the middle of the desert?" He knew the question was probably still straying a bit too
close to home for the boy, but he was, admittedly, curious about why this boy, who seemed
nothing like the other hostile, discriminating characters on the grounds, would choose to
join…or whether he had a choice at all.

Tenre gave a cutoff laugh. "No. It's going to sound dumb, but…" He paused, eyeing the
Doctor. "I always wanted to see the stars, so after Academy I applied for the service, hoping
to be a shuttle pilot, but they said I didn't have the right qualifications to be part of the
interplanetary division."

"That's not dumb at all." The Doctor smiled again. "And what other qualifications do you
need besides the desire?"

The boy shrugged and stood. "A whole lot, but an alien wouldn't understand. We have a more
sophisticated education system here." The Doctor was taken aback by the sudden change in
the boy, shocked by how quickly he wrote off a different species. That shock was followed by
a swift sadness as he realized it might already be too late for him. Either way, the Doctor
shook his head as he, too, stood and gave Tenre a sad look.

"Who knows, Tenre. Maybe one day you will get to see those stars."

The boy said nothing more as he turned and left. The Doctor glanced down at their new
meager supplies, around the cell, down the hall, catching the last glimpse of Tenre's boots
move around the bend before settling on Rose still curled up against the wall. He draped one
of the new blankets over her, carefully tucking it around her so as not to startle her with his
touch, before slowly creeping over to the small barred window set high on one of the walls.
He craned his neck around at different angles, pressing his body against the wall, but could
see no hint of the night sky. He branched out with his mind but the TARDIS was, as ever, just
slightly too far away to reach. He slid down the wall, pulling the roll of bandages towards
him and carefully untied his makeshift wraps, the gravity of their situation and the intense,
unpleasant tang of loneliness pressing down on his exhausted body until the pressure became
tangible and he gave up his fight against his eyelids and let himself escape into
unconsciousness.
 Chapter 13

The Doctor woke moments later to the sound of whimpering.

Or at least he thought it had only been moments, but since the cuts on his wrists had already
started to scab over and his once red skin was now fading to a deep brown he guessed it had
probably been longer. Rotating his wrists gently to test their healing, the Doctor searched the
cell for the source of the noise.

Rose was now laying on her back where she had been before, her blonde hair draped over
and shrouding her face as she twitched slightly in her sleep. The Doctor heard another quiet
whine escape her lips as she flinched in her sleep and gently scooted across the cell to her
side, his hearts heavy as he saw her eyes dancing devilishly behind her sealed lids, giving
away the nightmare she was having. Sweat lightly dotted her forehead and her lips were
quivering with silent cries.

He couldn't stand seeing her like this. Hating herself, hating him, terrified when she was
awake and terrified still when she was asleep. He still believed in her – she was and will
always be the strongest creature the Doctor had ever encountered – but the event was just too
fresh, too present in the forefront of her memories, haunting her consciousness as she battled
unsuccessfully to press passed it. Eventually the Doctor knew she'd be successful, perhaps
not recovering from it completely but at least coming to terms with what had happened and
who she was. He thought back to that dark time so very long ago when he had been engaged
in the same battle as she was and felt a surge of bitterness rise to the back of his throat as the
torturous memories made their way back into his life. He clamped down on them, quickly
shunning the images and thoughts and emotions that unwelcomingly assaulted him to the
metal box at the back of his mind where he kept the other monsters of his past and wished on
every star he had even encountered that Rose would find a way to do the same.

But even so the task would not be easy, and it would not come quick. And so, selfishly, the
Doctor found himself gnawing on his lower lip, wondering if it was a crime to take it all
away. Ones memories were their own sacred property, good or bad, wanted or unwanted.
Your memories and experiences define who you are and who you become and to take that
away would be to take away a part of someone's being and existence.

But the Doctor did not want to know how this particular experience would affect his
companion. Is it then, if the memory is so horrible and devastating that it could, in fact,
distress the positive growth of a being, acceptable to deprive that being of the recollection?
Would he not be thanked afterwards for the meddling? And besides – the Doctor attempted to
rationalize as he massaged his aching temples, trying to warm up his mind – if he allowed
this experience to become a part her, the Time Lord believed it would actually destroy the
'essence' of Rose, cannibalize that which makes Rose Rose until she is no longer herself at
all. In which case, by doing so, the Doctor would actually be saving her life…right?

The arguments danced around the Doctor's head in even more convoluted manners, twisting
themselves around and writhing like mercury just out of grasp of his understanding and
revelation. Either way, the Doctor justified, he would not be able to accomplish a full
memory wipe or altercation – no, wait, altercation would be even worse, let's not go there –
without the help of the TARDIS, and his beloved ship was simply too far away.

As if a light bulb had gone off inside his brilliant mind, the Doctor decided on a plan of
action that satisfied all battling sides of his conscience and morals. Rose whimpered again,
this time accompanied but a short, muffled shout as her dreams continued to torment her. She
was deep in the clutches of unconsciousness where her nightmares grew from reality and,
therefore, werereality to her confused and sleep-ridden mind. Carefully as ever, the Doctor
lovingly brushed her golden hair from her face and pressed the tips of his fingers against her
temples, opening his mind to hers.

Instantly Rose stilled, sucking in a gasp for air through her teeth as the Doctor connected his
consciousness with hers. He saw it all, the horror going on inside her mind, like a film
projection against the hallways of her mind, every other door along the corridor closed and
locked so she was forced to watch it all unfold before her again. The Doctor felt guilt slam
into him for the thousandth time that minute; guilt for trespassing into her mind and guilt for
what was playing in her dreams. He saw what she saw, felt her fear. He saw him. Saw Rat-
Face leering at him through the darkness. Felt his hands groping as he hissed snakelike in his
ear. Worthless. Whore. Slave.

A rumble of thunder shook the corridors of Rose's mind as the Doctor angrily vanished,
landing instead in the control center of her subconscious. And there was the memory, so fresh
and green, clawing for attention at the vanguard of her mind. Methodically, the Doctor took
hold of it, compress it down. He couldn't destroy it, no matter his desire, so he did the one
thing he could think of to help. He aged the memory, sending it further back into the recesses
of her mind. She still had it. The memory was still there. The thoughts, the feelings, the
reminiscence of pain, but the scars of time had already started to scab over it, artificial as they
were. When she awoke it would be as if the incident had happened weeks ago rather than
hours ago and she would finally be able to begin the healing process.

However, returning to the hallway, the Doctor saw the dreams still unfolding, now dimmer
and distant, but the idea was still there. That, the Doctor knew, would never go away. And so
he got to work on that as well. Brushing back another strand of hair, the Doctor readjusted his
grip on Rose's mind before implanting his own images. Images of expansive fields of tall red
grass surrounded by trees with silver leaves and matching fruit of unexplainable flavors.
Images of rust colored lakes that reflected the orange of the sky and the twin suns that set the
forests below on fire with light. He imparted the sensation of a warm breeze as snow began to
fall on the two peaked mountains far off in the distance in the distance.

Back in reality, Rose lips twitched with a content smile in her sleep as the Doctor slipped
gently out of her mind, a single tear falling from his downcast eyes.

Another hour stretched on without incident. The Doctor got redressed, gritting his teeth as the
fabric of his clothes kept the heat in from his hot skin, making him feel like he was on fire
again. He folded up the second blanket and gingerly lifted Rose's head in order to slip it
under as a pillow while she finally slept peacefully, lost in the images of old Gallifrey. All
this movement had reopened the thin scabs around the Doctor's slashed wrists and they were
beginning to bleed lazily again. The disinfectant stung painfully as he rubbed it into his torn
skin and it smelled of rancid chemicals, but he knew the last thing he needed was to get an
infection, especially in this cell that, quite frankly, could have used some spring cleaning.

Wrists cleaned and rewrapped (poorly, seeing as he only had one already painful hand to do
so), the Doctor could think of nothing else to do but dive into his bowl of sludge. He didn't
want to wake Rose now that she had finally fallen into a quiet sleep and he was, admittedly,
starving, much of his energy having been used during the struggle and then to heal himself,
and even this repulsive mound of brownish-green muck tasted better than starvation.

The gruel tasted as horrible as he remembered but he managed to force down a few bites. The
water helped to wash down the disgusting taste, but he didn't want to use it all up. Who knew
when they'd be getting more; with all these sudden 'gifts' they might think they didn't need to
be bothered with their prisoners for a while more.

The Doctor had just shoveled in another bite when he glanced up and noticed Rose's eyes
were open, staring at him expressionlessly from where she continued to lay sprawled on the
floor. Her eyes settled somewhere on his chest, however, not anywhere near his eyes. The
Doctor chocked down his mouthful, cringing as the unpleasant taste and texture slid slowly
down his throat. Tilting his head to the side as he observed her, the Doctor flashed her one of
his broad smiles and said as welcomingly and cheerfully as he dared, "Good morning!"

Her eyes momentarily flashed between the bowl of sludge and the Doctor's smiling face
before she lightly bit into her lower lip, the corners of her mouth flicking upwards into what
possibly could have been the beginning of a smile. "Looks like you're enjoying that." She
indicated with a twitch of head that she meant the slop. The Doctor considered the sludge
sticking stubbornly to his spoon.

"Yep! Straight off the gourmet specials menu. Ordered two, actually. Spare no expenses,
that's my style." He slid the other bowl across the short expanse as Rose pushed herself into a
sitting position, wincing slightly as her sore body fought to obey the simple command. He
wanted so badly to jump up and help her but he waited for her to ask, give him permission,
not wanting to startle her with quick movements and contact so soon. He needed to let her
figure out what she was comfortable with and help her grow on that first.

She eyed the bowl with a look of nothing short of abhorrence. With great trepidation she
picked up the spoon and poked it with the end. Just like before, it bounced suspiciously right
back into place. She felt her stomach flip over unpleasantly. "What I wouldn't give for a pizza
right now." She muttered to herself.

"Pretend it's chocolate pudding." The Doctor suggested as he scooped a fraction onto his own
utensil and glared at it. "You know…just with bits of…things in it. Like chocolate chips and
gummy worm candies."

Rose nipped at it experimentally. "That's disgusting."

"Good source of protein at least."

"I think I'm going to be sick…" Rose dropped the bowl, the spoon clattering across the floor,
as she coughed the retched taste out. Her face had taken on a greenish tinge as she gagged
dryly. There was nothing in her stomach to come out. Now the Doctor moved forward,
sliding in to sit next to her as she heaved to the other side and holding back her hair for her
just in case. She didn't seem to object to the touch. He ran a comforting hand up and down
her arm as she shook and uncapped one of the water canteens. As her retching subsided he
handed her the jug and she drank greedily from it, trying to wash down the sour taste in her
mouth. The Doctor knew the symptoms and felt guilty as he realized she was experiencing
Invasion Sickness; the body's reaction to trying to ward off an alien intrusion in the mind of
someone with less psychic awareness. He was, once again, causing her pain.

She handed back the canteen, wiping a stray drop of water from her chin, when suddenly she
froze. The Doctor saw her eyes go distant, hazy, before rapidly coming back alive with fear.
She jumped as the Doctor tried to bring her back to reality with a light squeeze of the hand
and instinctively shuffled away from him, upturning the bowl of sludge, terror and tears
burning behind her eyes. "D-D-Doctor?" She whimpered, horrified, stumbling over her
frantic words. "What if…W-what if…can I be…m-morning s-s-sickness?" The last word
escaped her like a whoosh of air from a curse as she stared at him desperately.

The Doctor almost burst into laughter. Almost. If it hadn't been for the look of absolute horror
and dread on Rose's face he might have. But instead he forced himself to try to stay serious,
reminding his ancient brain that his companion was still relatively new to the ways of the
universe. "No, Rose, don't worry." He chuckled reassuringly through his slight smile.
"Drepheshies and humans aren't exactly…compatible…in that sense."

He could feel her relief sweeping off her as she sighed, her shoulders seeming to deflate as
the tension of fear left her. She didn't, however, move back to sit beside the Doctor. A
stressed silence fell between them as Rose carefully began to pick up the spilled sludge,
scooping the remains of what she clearly had no intention of eating back into the bowl. The
Doctor would chastise her for that later, knowing she hadn't eaten in a while and needed to
keep up her strength, but now was not the time. Instead he fiddled absently with the canteen
cap still clutched in his hand before trying to venture back into possible conversation.

"By the way," He began as casually as he could. "How are you feeling?"

Rose didn't respond immediately. She set the bowl down and stared at it for a while, tongue
sticking out from between her teeth as she thought. Subconsciously she had curled back into
the fetal position, knees drawn up to her chest, without even having noticed it. When at last
she finally did speak, it was not exactly what the Doctor had expected her to say.

"I'm sorry about last night."

A moment of pause to see if she was going to continue. "That's not an answer." The Doctor
remarked quietly.

Rose gave a short, humorless huff of laughter. "It's the only one I can give." Her voice flipped
up on the last syllable, as if she was asking if that were so instead of saying it, not entirely
convinced herself. She sighed and picked up the spoon, twirling it between her fingers. "I
dunno…" She finally admitted. "I fell asleep all terrified and humiliated and hurt, and woke
up just…blank. Like it had happened years ago and I was just waking up from a very vivid
nightmare. " She paused then, nibbling on the end of her spoon before her eyebrows dipped
in the middle, a curious frown forming on her face. "Am I making any sense?"

The Doctor sniffed and shrugged superciliously. "Why do we always need to make sense? So
boring. Dull. Life's no fun without nonsense. No mystery in it at all." He yawned to make his
point.

Rose laughed and the Doctor's hearts soared at the sound. Her features couldn't hold onto the
fleeting burst of mirth, falling back into a blank stated mask, but it had been there. It had
existed. She coughed quietly to clear her throat. "Okay, your turn, mister. Those wraps look
like they were done by a blind five year old."

"Oh, excuse me!" The Doctor jumped on the playful defensive as he held his bandaged wrists
to his chest. "I'm sorry my bandaging skills aren't up to your standard, Dr. Tyler. I am a
Doctor, after all."

"Yeah, a Doctor of what exactly? Eggs?"

"…And other things." He admitted sorely as he held his wrist out to her. She rolled the
bandages back carefully to inspect his lacerated wrists. Orange-ish blood had seeped through
the lower layers.

"Where'd you get the bandages from, anyway?" She voiced as she rolled them up.

"Our gracious hosts were kind enough to bring us some supplies." There was no mistaking
the venom that had managed to seep into his voice as he mentioned their 'hosts'. "Even
included some disinfectant medication

Rose glanced around thoughtfully. "Bandages, medicine, food and water, blankets –
someone's feeling generous."

"Or guilty." He guessed through clenched teeth.

Rose didn't reply. She dabbed some new disinfectant on them despite the Doctor's protests
that he'd already done so and began to rewrap them. The Doctor made no further moves
towards conversation either. The silence that had fallen between them was finally relaxed,
familiar. He still noticed the stiffness in Rose's shoulders, the way she still hadn't met his eye,
but he knew this wasn't going to be over with and forgotten quickly. He just had to make sure
to be there for her wherever she needed him to be. And if that happened to be sitting on the
opposite side of the cell just to make her feel comfortable, so be it.

Their calm moment was suddenly interrupted by a loud whirling and whooshing and grinding
of metal and engines. The Doctor glanced skyward and Rose's head darted back and forth,
trying to identify the location of the sound. The Doctor knew it though. He recognized the
make of those engines. A Skyfarer Mark IV, ironically of future human design that the
Drephesh had pirated and redone. The Doctor's hearts sank as the sound of the vessel came
closer, hovering over the outpost's landing base. Rose followed his eyes upwards as she
leaned in closer to his body.
"What is that?" She asked quietly as if the offending noise was listening to her in return.

The Doctor didn't respond immediately. His Adam's apple bobbed up and down as he
swallowed heavily. "Seven days." He muttered without looking down. "It's been seven days."

"What does that mean?" Rose asked worriedly.

The Doctor's eyes flitted around the room, looking for one last chance of escape, as he
answered. "It means they're here. It's the Eyal slave ship, landing in the courtyard for us."
 Chapter 14

The Doctor helped Rose slowly to her feet as the containment center door flew open. He
noticed in some part of his mind how Rose tried to hold her head high, hands balled into fists
at her side, while at the same time angling her shaking body behind the Doctor's. She always
tried to be so brave.

But the rest of his mind was focused on the footsteps of the new arrival. They were singular –
only one man – quick and light as if moving on the balls of his feet. The Doctor sniffed
deeply, pulling in the smell. Human.

Captain Ren appeared on the other side of the bars, glancing around the rest of the hallway
and into the holding cells on either side. He turned to face the Doctor and Rose, looking
nervous, and opened his mouth as if to begin saying something, but paused. His forehead
wrinkled as he caught sight of the discarded mattress, the bright red of dried blood staining
the bars and across the floor, and the ruffled, wary appearance of his two 'prisoners'. He
frowned. "What the hell happened here?"

Suddenly the Doctor felt incredibly angry again at the man in front of them. A growl formed
deep in his throat as his lips shaped into a snarl. "Can't even keep track of your own
men, captain? Maybe you should ask your rodent faced friend about what happened."

"Doctor," Rose reined him back in with that one softly spoken word. The Doctor felt his
anger swiftly dissipate at the confused, stunned look on Ren's face. The captain's gaze landed
on Rose as he suddenly became aware of how her shoulders slumped forward slightly and the
way she stood behind the Doctor's body like a shield. He took a concerned step forward,
staring at her intently.

"Were – I mean – Did they…?"

He stopped, unable to even finish the questions, but the way Rose's eyes flitted to the floor at
the question was answer enough. Ren bristled. He shifted his weight from one foot to the
other, uncomfortable and…furious. "Rose," He finally said, his voice thick and heavy with
empathy. "I am really, truly sorry, I had no idea." He paused as he gazed at her. "No
one deserves that."

The Doctor's eyes narrowed questioningly as he saw something flash across the captain's
face, a soft glisten in his sympathetic eyes that told him his mind had suddenly gone far off.
The Doctor opened his mouth to ask about it when Ren seemed to snap back to reality, gaze
zipping back to the Doctor.

"You don't have much time." He announced, suddenly all business. "They just got here."

"Yeah, we heard." The Doctor knew who they were.

Ren approached the cell door, drawing out one of its complicated keys from his pocket. Rose
inhaled sharply as he unlocked the door, pulling it open a few inches so it wouldn't
accidentally be relocked. The Doctor's suspicious didn't waiver.

"I'm supposed to be meeting the collectors at the landing base right now, but unfortunately
got delayed making it there." Ren gave the Doctor a meaningful look. "I can distract them
with all the proper etiquette and paperwork for a while, and 'my' men will probably be too
focused on their arrival to be paying much attention to the outer arms of the outpost. This
might be your last chance to get out free."

The Doctor raised his chin slightly and observed the captain. Humanity was now radiating off
of him; the Doctor could practically smell it. After all these years playing actor in these
foreign deserts, Ren had not abandoned that one monumental human trait.

"What about you?" Rose piped in. Ren sighed and glanced around, anxious to leave in time.

"If you both get stuck in Eyal, then I have absolutely no hope of making it home. At least this
way I can hope you'll decide to come back for me. The way I see it, it's either a fifty percent
chance or an a hundred percent chance I'm trapped here forever."

"Why not just come with us now?"

Ren shook his head. "I need to distract the men and the collectors for this to work. It's going
to be a close call as it is; middle of the day, men still on shift. Just wait ten minutes before
you go so I can get them all holed up in my office first…and to eliminate me from
suspicion." Ren shrugged at the last comment as he fixed the pair with a stare that begged so
plainly come back for me. The Doctor found himself only able to nod his silent promise.

"There are two possible ways out that would be the easiest." Ren continued. He spoke
quickly as time continued to tick on. The collectors might already be unloading off their ship
by now. "The first one is up some stairs –"

"You don't have time." The Doctor interrupted. He took two large steps to the bars, fitting his
arms between them and reaching out to touch the sides of Ren's forehead. Ren jerked back at
first, eyeing the Doctor suspiciously. "Just think the paths and I'll see them." His fingers
connected with Ren's temples, just as they had with Rose's not long ago, and he let his mind
latch onto the unguarded information in front of him. Ren gasped as he felt the foreign
fingers press against his mind, but he did as the Doctor instructed, bringing forward the
images of the best flight paths for the two.

It didn't take long. The Doctor memorized the layout within seconds and retreated from the
captain's mind. He opened his eyes to see Ren's pupils dilated beneath the orange contacts
with shock at the new experience, but they soon faded back to normalcy, the actor soldiering
on through the blunder in his lines.

"Thank you." The Doctor placed as much emphasis and sincerity into the two syllables as he
could. Ren simply nodded, still speechless, but when the Doctor began to turn back he
grabbed onto the Time Lord's hand, demanding his attention one more time. The Doctor
looked up with questioning surprise.
Ren motioned towards Rose. "Get her home safe." He instructed with a quirked eyebrow.
"Get her back to her parents. Her family."

The Doctor's earlier suspicious about the glint in Ren's eye proved correct with those
demands. He smiled and squeezed Ren's hand reassuringly.

"I'll get you back to yours soon, too." He assured as his promise. Ren bowed his head and,
with a quick nod towards Rose in good-bye, ran from the containment center. Both prisoners
stood still and silent for a minute, just listening, before the Doctor swiveled around, messing
up his hair as he did so. "Phewwww, two psychic links in one day, really shouldn't be this
exhausting."

Rose glanced at him through the corner of her eye, confused. "Two?" She asked as she
thought something was beginning to click inside her head.

The Doctor froze as he realized he'd said that out loud, and suddenly he found himself
questioning whether Rose really would forgive him for going into her mind, altering her
perception, manipulating her memories. Listed like that it sounded like an absolutely
horrendous breach in personal rights and boundaries, even to the Doctor. But his guilty,
surprised statue didn't last more than a second as he bounced forward with feigned energy,
pretending he hadn't heard her question. Was he ever able to pull one over on Rose Tyler,
though? "Alrighty then!" He clapped his hands together. "Ten minutes to kill!"

"When was the other time?"

"Now, do you think we should take the stairs or the tunnel out? I think the stairs are our best
bet –"

"You said two psychic links, when was the other one?"

"Although the tunnel would provide some nice cover…or trap us inside –"

"Doctor."

The Doctor froze as she snapped his name. Rose was staring at him wide-eyed, arms crossed
over her chest as she demanded an explanation with her large brown eyes. The Doctor sighed
heavily, searching his brain for an excuse. Any excuse. He couldn't afford to lose her trust
now.

Acting defeated, deflated, the Doctor came up with a quick lie. "Why do you think they
brought us all these supplies?" He motioned towards the blankets and medication.

Rose raised her eyebrows. "I thought you said it was because someone was feeling guilty."
Her tone blatantly conveying that she wasn't buying into it.

This time, however, the Doctor didn't have to lie with his response. "Yes, someone was. Me."

Ten minutes passed like molasses during the Ice Age. The Doctor stretched out his hearing as
far as he could, straining to hear the sound of approaching footsteps or snippets of
conversations out in the hallway. The entire time he heard nothing. His internal clock ticked
away at the seconds until six hundred of them had passed. Time to go.

The cell door creaked as the Doctor pushed it open, jarringly loud amidst the silence of the
room and the two prisoner's desperation. Turning back to Rose, he held out his hand, offering
it to her with a playful wiggle of his fingers. For a moment Rose just stared at it, a frown
forming in her eyes, before she brushed it away and slowly moved forward, slipping her hand
into his. A second later every hint of hesitation evaporated as she entwined her fingers in his,
squeezing gently. "Let's do this." She whispered with new found determination.

It was with a smile that the Doctor pulled Rose out of the cell for the last time, guiding her
down the hallway towards the heavy doors. The last time he had charged through them he'd
been on his own, having left Rose behind. And while he was relieved she hadn't been shot
down and punished as he had been, there was still a part of him that felt guilty about leaving
her behind in the first place. Now they were both hurrying down the hallway, running on the
balls of their feet, Rose limping slightly as she moved, with their hands still clasped together.
The Doctor thought back one impossibly long week ago to when they'd been fleeing from the
Drephesh natives, bolting down that rocky hill hand-in-hand as they were now. How had
everything gone so wrong so fast?

They paused at the door, the Doctor listening for any signs of movement on the other side.
When he was sure there was nothing and no one there he pushed the door open, happy that it
made no noise, and with a reassuring smile drew Rose with him out into the hall.

The corridor was just as he remembered it: long and conventional and deserted. Instead of
going right like last time, the Doctor darted to the left, following the mental map Ren had
provided for him. They had decided on the stairs route which would lead them up onto the
lowest roof of the outpost. From their they could bypass the entire courtyard and gate,
avoiding the top interest areas of the complex where the most attention would be directed.

They hurdled around a corner in their haste to find the escape route when the Doctor jumped
backwards, twirling back around the turn and clamping a hand over Rose's mouth to cut off
her gasp as the movement surprised her. She tensed, eyes widening as she heard the
unmistakable sounds of marching boots. Their eyes quickly scanned their hallway, looking
for anything – a room, a broom cupboard, a hole in the wall – they could use to hide, but
there was nothing. The Doctor pressed a finger to his lips as he chanced another look around
the corner.

The two guards were making their way closer, chatting to each other casually as they carried
between them a large black bag. The Doctor recognized them. They had been on the patrol
with Blondie and Rat-Face when the Doctor and Rose had been captured.

Rose tugged on his sleeve, trying to pull him back down the corridor and out of sight on the
other side, but the Doctor held up his hand. They didn't have time. The guards were getting
too close to try to avoid and the corridor was too long; if they turned down this way they
would still be able to see the retreating backs of the two prisoners. Their only hope was that
the guards would keep going straight…or to face them.
The Doctor heard the new angle of the footsteps and groaned inwardly. They were turning
down their hall. He squeezed Rose's hand reassuringly before stepping forward, rolling his
shoulders. Fighting was never his favorite option, but right now all he cared about was
getting Rose and himself out.

The footsteps were louder now, pounding through the Doctor's ears. They would be turning
the corner in three…two…one…

The Doctor lashed out, driving a straight arm into the closest guard's neck. He collapsed
backwards, stunned and chocking, grabbing at his assaulted windpipe. The other guard
jumped in surprise and dropped the cargo they were carrying, which crashed to the ground
heavily and, unfortunately, rather loudly. He froze, clearly not having been expecting to
encounter any trouble within their own halls, but the Doctor gave him no time to recover. He
launched forward, crouching down and drawing his leg around, catching the guard on the
back of the knee. His leg gave out under him and he crashed forward, but at the last second
managed to pull into a tumble. He jumped back to his feet, spinning around and throwing a
punch that the Doctor expertly avoided. Another fist came flying towards him but the Doctor
twisted and twirled out of the way, jabbing at the various pressure points of the body.

This time, however, instead of a fist flying at him, it was the side of a cattle prod, the tip
flashing dangerously as electricity danced between the two prongs. The Doctor barely evaded
it, his whole body arching backwards until his upper body almost created a right angle with
his lower. As he launched back up the Doctor drove two fingers into the guard's neck, just
above the sternum. The guard suddenly became lifeless. He crumpled to the floor as if every
bone in his body had suddenly decided to take the day off. He was unconscious instantly. The
cattle prod fell from his grasp and rolled harmlessly across the floor.

The Doctor didn't have time to celebrate his victory. A thick arm suddenly wound its way
around his neck, pulling him backwards and off his feet. He clawed at the arm, scrapping at
flesh, as he chocked and gasped for air. The arm was incredibly strong. Then suddenly agony
filled him as another prod was brought down on his side, sending its current coursing through
his body. He writhed in the guard's hold, trying to escape, unable to even drag in a fragment
of delicious air.

Suddenly the arm released him as the Doctor heard a loud CLUNK. He spun around, gasping,
holding his own bruised throat, to see Rose standing behind the second crumpled body, cattle
prod in hand. She held it strongly by the shaft, the heavy handle pointed down and now
covered with blood and bits of hair. She smiled at him through the adrenaline before dropping
the prod heavily on the unconscious man's head. The handle hit him again with a heavythunk.
"Sorry." Rose whispered unapologetically to the man.

"Nice one." The Doctor smiled as he massaged his throat. "Come on, let's find a place to hide
them." He grabbed the wrists of the larger man who had just tried to pull his head off and
began to drag him towards the hallway they'd just come from. Rose followed his lead, haul
the other guard slowly and choppily behind her. He was much heavier than he looked.

Luckily for them there was an open closet just a few feet down the corridor. The Doctor
quickly shoved the two guards in and went to close the door when Rose suddenly jammed it
with her toe. "Wait." She bent down and, after a bit of rummaging, managed to pull out both
of their radios. The Doctor glowed.

"Brilliant. Absolutely brilliant, you are." He took one of the radios from her. Not only could
the guards not alert anyone if they wake up, but now Rose and the Doctor would be able to
hear if the alarm had been raised. So far the frequencies were silent.

"Allons-y!" The Doctor chirped as he took hold of Rose's hand once again and charged down
the corridor. They needed to hurry. Who knew how long Ren would be able to distract the
collectors without arousing suspicion of himself. And not only did they need to make it to the
roof before the alarm is sounded, but they also needed to make sure they were far enough
away that the guards wouldn't just hop in their little tank-carts and drag them back in.

The Doctor paused at a fork in the hall and mentally assessed his map. Right. He burst to the
right and came crashing to a halt. All there was was one heavy looking door. For a fraction of
a beat the Doctor just stared at it. He had not seen this in Ren's plans. "No…this isn't
supposed to be here." He whispered frantically.

Rose tried the handle, pulling on it with all her might, but the door wouldn't budge. More
than ever the Doctor wished he still had his handy-dandy screwdriver. They were so close to
the rooftop access he could actually smell it. He could smell the burnt sand outside, the heat
of the sun and the way it crisped the metal of the outpost walls. He took the handle himself
and shook it violently. Nothing. He rammed his shoulder into the solid metal. Nothing. Well,
not exactly nothing – now he had a heavily bruised shoulder, too.

"Okay, what about the tunnel?" Rose asked with desperation on her voice. The Doctor closed
his eyes as he brought forward the new map, backtracking in his mind to the corridor they
needed to reach in order to be on route to the tunnel access.

He opened his eyes to see Rose staring at him expectantly. Slowly he began to nod. Was this
possible? "If we're extremely lucky and sprint the whole way, we might be able to make it."
The collectors had landed nearly twenty minutes ago. How much longer did they have?

They got their answer almost instantly. Both radios buzzed to life, startling Rose and causing
the Doctor to jump slightly. They'd both forgotten that they had taken them. The radios
cackled a bit more before a frenetic voice came through on the other end. "Prisoner escape! I
repeat, prisoner escape! Down in corridor ten. I think they're headed towards the corridor
eleven's roof access!"

Rose quickly covered her mouth. One of the guard's they had taken out must have
reawakened. The Doctor held back an extremely colorful Gallifreyan curse and spun back
towards the door. He rammed into it again, jerking on the handle, pulling with all his Time
Lord strength and the pushing just in case. The door groaned under the assault but otherwise
made no indication of planning to open.

"Doctor, come on! We have to go!" Rose gabbed the back of his jacket and pulled him
backwards towards the hallway they had just used. The message was out, there was no point
in staying quiet and stealthy anymore. Frustrated, the Doctor allowed Rose to pull him back
to reality. They sprinted back down the hall, trying to flip the directions around so they could
make their way back to the beginning. All that time had been a waste, and now they were
racing against both the clock and the guards.

The radios buzzed back to life as another message came through. The Doctor froze in his
tracks as an all too familiar voice wafted through the system. "We're in corridor nine heading
up." Rat-Face announced with his usual high, oily voice. The Doctor heard Rose gasp.

"Copy, and we're in fourteen aiming to intersect. They haven't passed us yet."

The Doctor spun around, looking for something, anything, any way out of this situation. He
could already hear footsteps coming from the lower numbered halls – Rat-Face's hoard, the
Doctor thought with a pang of anger and revulsion. For a moment he was tempted to rush
down to meet them, plow into Drephesh monster and claw that smug look off his sharp,
rodent-like face. But he shut that emotion down instantly. Now was not the time to be rash.

Rose clung to his arm as she jerked her head back and forth, finally hearing the sound of the
approaching footsteps as well. "Doctor, what do we do?" She looked up at the Time Lord
despairingly. The Doctor's own forlorn look did not help to ease her racing heart.

They retreated once again, heading back towards the locked door, but this time turned left
instead. They Doctor's eyes scanned for any sign of an escape route, or even a place to hide,
but the corridor they turned down was simply lined with thick pipes that excreted a small
amount of steam that would not be enough to provide a proper cover. There were no doors or
new rooms to run to down here.

Boots ran towards them, only a hall or two away. Shouts accompanied them, someone
ordering to check that a door was still latched and locked. They had reached the roof access
already. Dread clawed at the Doctor as the other end of the corridor filled with the sounds of
similar running boots. Somewhere in the depths of his mind that was not focusing completely
on the task at hand he felt bad for Rose as he dragged her forward once more. She tripped
over her own feet as she fought to keep up. The Doctor hurled the rest of the way down the
corridor, hoping to beat the men to the junction branching off from where they were, but
froze as a shadow appeared on the threshold. A line of men appeared, holding up their stun-
guns, all aimed at The Doctor and Rose. The Doctor slid to a stop before bounding the other
way, only to realize the other end of the corridor had already been sealed off by the
rendezvous team. Rose stumbled from the sudden change in direction and plowed into the
Doctor's side as he froze.

Breathing hard, the two prisoners faced the impenetrable line of armed guards. They were
cornered, trapped like rats, backed up against the hot pipes that fed the outpost. Rose hissed
as her back lightly pressed against the searing metal of the ducts. "What do we do?" She
murmured quietly to the Doctor, her eyes flitting between each of the new arrivals.

The Doctor's eyes darted around the small space, searching for a break in the ranks. When he
saw none he glanced down and gave Rose a pain, apologetic smile as he raised his hands in
the air, admitting defeat. With a sigh Rose copied him, staring at the ground now instead of
the approaching figures.
She unfortunately looked up in time to see Rat-Face pull out of the herd, stalking towards
them with a sickeningly arrogant smile. She instantly shifted closer to the Doctor,
whimpering as she looked into the face of the man who had so viciously assaulted her so
recently before her vision fell to the ground.

The Doctor, however, heard her soft choke and felt his blood instantly boil. Before he knew
what he was doing, his body was launching itself across the short expanse towards the rodent,
a feral, animalistic growl emanating from somewhere deep within that evolution had not
managed to erase entirely. The Doctor didn't even feel like himself anymore, a new animal
having taken over. He wanted to tear and break and peel and –

BANG!

"AHG!" The Doctor howled as a Volt Bite tore into his skin, sending him flying backwards
into the steaming pipes from the close distance of the shot. The electricity ripped through him
viciously. He heard Rose shout his name. He peeled one eye open through the surging pain to
see that a man had grabbed her from behind, hauling her away from him as the guard tugged
her arms behind her back. She squirmed and kicked, fighting, but the Doctor saw the terrified
look on her face, thinking it was all about to happen again. "N-n-no." He slurred through the
pain, trying to force himself up before another rush of hellish energy struck him. "Don' – t-
touch 'er…" His vision flashed black and then white and then normal. The current was
holding on for too long.

As suddenly as it happened, the pain stopped. The Doctor felt himself sag instantly, his
muscled painfully relaxing after being seized and cramped and abused so roughly. He could
hardly even protest to the pair of strong hands dragging him upright, pulling his arms behind
his back and clamping them securely into a pair of cuffs. His sight was still flashing and
blurring annoyingly, but through the haze he saw the smirking smile or Rat-Face leering
down at him. The adrenaline brought on by hatred cut straight through his foggy mind.

"Did you really not learn anything from our last lesson?" The rodent taunted. "Do I have to
teach you again who's in charge here?"

"Sir, the captain says to bring them straight up to the launch pad." One of the guards
interrupted. Rat-Face glared him down before begrudgingly nodding.

"Gag them." He instructed to the men. "I don't want them spreading anymore of their lies."
The Doctor fought against the hands holding him down and forcing a piece of rough fabric
between his teeth and over his mouth as Rat-Face moved closer to Rose, who was going
through similar treatment. The human girl froze in fear as he crouched down in front of her,
her brown eyes wide as she tried unsuccessfully to put as much distance between him and
herself as possible. Rat-Face just pressed a disgusting finger to her muzzled lips as she
trembled, making a menacing hushing sound. "Hush now. Worthless whores don't get to
speak, remember?" He whispered in her ear as a tear streaked down her cheek.

The Doctor yelled through the muzzle, his words muffled and indistinct, twisting to escape
the hands on his shoulders. The guards dragged him back to his feet.
"Too bad I don't have time to reteach that lesson." Rat-Face goaded as he turned back to the
Doctor. "It would have been my pleasure. But unfortunately we're out of time." He jerked his
head to indicate for the men to follow him. The Doctor was shoved forward as Rat-Face
called back over his shoulder. "Come along. Your new masters await you."
 Chapter 15

Captain Ren fought to control his desire to start pacing. He kept his hands busy by shuffling
papers around to keep from wringing them with worry ever since he got the news that his last
chance to get back home had been spotted sprinting through the base down in corridor ten.
The moment the word 'prisoners' escaped through the radio he switched off the volume,
knowing what it would say before it was said. He didn't want the collectors to know there had
been an escape attempt. The less they knew, the more careless they would be, the higher the
chance was that the Doctor would be able to figure something out.

Because even in the small amount of time the two had actually spent together, Ren could tell
he was a more intelligent being, bathed in knowledge and power and sharper than most races
in the universe. Far sharper, Ren knew, than humans, and therefore light-years ahead of these
brutes who relied on strength and fear to run their disgusting empire built on the backs of
slaves and murders justified by a corrupt society. It had been his eyes, actually – the black
glint the hid in the corner that spoke of past destruction and loss that had clearly kindled into
wisdom. Ren had seen it spark up three times, and only for a fraction of a second each. When
they had first brought the two in and Rose was taken from him. When he'd found out about
the sale of his freedom to Eyal. And so recently down in those cells. It had been both
terrifying and mesmerizing all at the same time.

The collectors discussed among themselves a few matters Ren had no part or interest in. His
involvement was more or less done. He had greeted the four, brought them into his office,
offered them a drink, and played the host. Then they got straight down to business. They
discussed numbers. Lots and lots of numbers. If Eyal was anything, it was surprisingly
profitable, considering in most parts of the universe slavery is heavily forbidden and frowned
upon. Ren knew that the higher the number he could convince them to settle with the happier
his men would be. And a happy team makes for a less likelihood that they would turn on him.
He was constantly paranoid on that matter.

He then explained the situation to the collectors. They listened intently, jotting down bits of
information they might find helpful in figuring out where best their new recruits could go.
That, for the most part, was the secret to Eyal's success; their intricate categorization and
training system guaranteed the buyer walks away with exactly what they want…and a
considerably lighter purse. He told them every detail he could think of, from where they were
found to the way they interacted with each other.

He only lied about one thing.

"And what species did you say they were?" The cold female collector asked. Her orange eyes
were so pale they almost looked milky with death.

Ren didn't allow himself to hesitate. "Both human. From Earth. None of us can figure out
how they got out this far in space, and they're not talking."
The collector shrugged. "It hardly matters anymore. The fact is that they are here." She
paused and flipped through her notes for a moment, frowning slightly. "It says here that in the
initial report that the female had been identified as human, but the male could not be
classified by your system."

Ren shifted slightly where he leaned against his desk. How much had Crvas told them? "Yes,
there was a small glitch in our recognition software, but we got the technicians on it and
sorted the problem out quickly. We redid the scan and the results identified him as a child of
Earth." He silently congratulated himself as the collector simply nodded her head and wrote it
down.

All five heads in the room spun around as noise could be heard down the hallway. Numerous
pairs of feet pounded against the metal flooring. "Looks like your new stock just arrived
gentlemen." He gave a little mocking bow to the woman as he moved towards the door. "And
ma'am."

There was a double tap on the door and Ren pulled it open, revealing four members of the
captain's team escorting the two prisoners. He breathed an inaudible sigh of relief that they
had had enough sense to leave behind the small army they certainly must have used to
recapture them. Rat-Face – Ren certainly liked the nickname the Doctor had come up with, it
was far more suiting than the one the dirty freak's mother had given him – was certainly one
to flash the strength on his side.

Speak of the Devil…Ren thought as Rat-Face entered at the front of the group. He could
barely conceal the smug twist of his pointy face. The Doctor was ushered in behind him,
bound and gagged unnecessarily and glaring with twelve different levels of hatred at the back
of Rat-Face's head. For a brief moment the Doctor and Ren made eye contact but
immediately they both looked away, not wanting to draw attention to their familiarity.

Rose was shoved through after him and positioned at the Doctor's side so the collectors could
see them both. Ren noticed a small dot of liquid clinging to her long eyelashes, desperately
trying not to fall down her face. But her features didn't give away the tiny tear; she stared
boldly ahead, not meeting anyone's eyes, but held her chin level and was clearly clenching
her jaw with discomfort for the whole situation. Rat-Face moved to stand by her, hands
clasped behind his back as he swayed proudly onto the balls of his feet and then back down,
and Rose inched slightly closer to the Doctor's side. The Doctor gave Rat-Face another
piercing glower before moving his attention to the newest faces in the room.

The collectors had gathered in front of them, looking the two prisoners up and down like
buyers at a horse fair. The Doctor half expected them to check his snout and lift up his legs to
examine his hooves and measure the hands between his withers and chest. One of the
collectors, a bald man with ridges similar to those on his nose, only larger, decorating his
hairless head, stepped up to the Doctor, acknowledging his height, before walking around
him with a critical stare.

"Well this slim thing certainly isn't going to make it into the physical labor program. Looks
like a gust of wind could topple it over." The Doctor rolled his eyes at being referred to as an
'it' and wished the gag was gone so he could express his dissatisfaction out loud and with
many long, convoluted sentences they probably wouldn't be able to follow. The man poked
him in the side with a writing instrument and the Doctor squirmed. It tickled. And was
definitely an unwelcome breach of his personal bubble. "It's pretty though. Could fit into the
pleasure program quite easily." Yes, the Doctor definitely wanted the gag removed. He
chomped on the fabric, holding back his retort.

The woman, who was busy scribbling something on her note pad, didn't look up as she
replied, "That's for the Keepers to confirm. Our job is just transport."

"This one will fit into your pleasure program, I can promise you that." Rat-Face added oily as
he nudged Rose's shoulder with his elbow and licked his upper lip. The Doctor had to breathe
deeply in through his nose to keep his head as Rose practically jumped into his bound arms,
trying to put more distance between her and the man now leering at her with a dark smile.

The bald collector's eyes snapped up to Rat-Face. He did not look amused at all. "We don't
like out stock damaged, Corporal. What good is it to us if it's broken?"

Rat-Face looked as though he'd just been slapped. He took a step backwards and bowed his
head, red tinting the edges of his face as he murmured an apology. The Doctor smiled behind
the muzzle as a quiet laugh bubbled up in the back of his throat. The 'Corporal' obviously
deserved worse than a telling off, but his embarrassment would just have to be good enough
for now.

The woman tore off the piece of paper she'd been writing on and handed it stiffly to Ren,
who, after a split second's hesitation, took it from her and read it over. "They seem to be in
fine health, if not a little worn from your conditions. Here is our offer for them both."

Ren's eyebrows shot up as he read the number. Even though he felt sick accepting money
from this kind of exchange, there were quite a lot of numbers on that piece of paper. Certainly
enough to satisfy his men into ignorance again. "We graciously accept." His eyes flitted
guiltily over to the Doctor, who stared back at him evenly with a look that plainly said don't
worry about us. Keep yourself alive. Ren suppressed a nod as he was once again caught
beneath the stare of those impossible eyes.

"Were they acquired together?"

The woman's questions snapped Ren out of his daze. "Yes. Yes, they were. And they are
amazingly close to each other. Attached, even."

"Mates." The woman groaned in annoyance. "Always tricky ones to break in." She nodded to
a few of Ren's men guarding the Doctor and Rose. "Help them bring the two up to the
shuttle." The men quickly obliged to the order, grabbing the Doctor by the elbow and
dragging him out the door, closely followed by Rose who was being led by one of the
collectors.

Rat-Face waited as everyone filed out of the room, still slightly humiliated and pink in the
face. Captain Ren was the last to leave before him. He raised his eyes just in time to see Ren
glare at his wholeheartedly before stomping out of the office. Rat-Face followed a few safe
steps behind.
Rose and the Doctor were led along a few of the painfully monotonous halls before being led
up three flights of stairs. Where were these seventeen minutes again? The Doctor asked
himself as he pouted at how unfair the whole situation had become. The stairs led out onto
the rooftop that was accessorized with a gigantic landing pad that took up much of the roof
space on this side of the complex. The Doctor looked down over the other side into the
courtyard at all the Drephesh who looked humorously small as they scurried about
performing their amoral duties.

But then rather quickly his attention was drawn to the rather large ship parked at the center of
the landing pad. He had been right before; it was a pirated Skyfarer Mark IV reequipped with
downwards propulsion pads to make for helicopter-type maneuverability as well as a
reinforced docking and loading bay for the cargo space. The Doctor thought he knew what
this ship carried as cargo.

They were moved closer to the loading bay as the ramp began to lower. The mechanics of the
ship groaned as the metal moved and landed with a dull THUD on the metal roof.

The Doctor's eyes widened at the sight they were greeted with. Eleven others were already in
the cargo bay, strapped down to benches that lined the walls and ran up the center of the hull.
The place was clearly designed to hold more, but at the time the current residents were spread
out along the benches. None of them seemed completely with it as they more or less ignored
the new activity in the hull. Some of them even appeared to be asleep. Drugged, the Doctor
concluded. Fantastic, they had that to look forward to now, too.

They were brought into the hull by the outpost guards, but one of the collectors ordered them
to stop. "Unbind them and remove the gags." One of them commanded. "We prefer to restrain
them our way." The guards muttered 'yes, sir's as they complied. The Doctor's wrists were
unlocked and he quickly pulled the gag off over his head. His hair moved upwards with the
movement and stayed there.

"Oh, that's better." He rotated his jaw, sore from holding onto the thick fabric for so long, and
heard the joints click. He didn't have much time to enjoy his release though as he was
practically dragged across the hull and thrown onto one of the benches. The armrests between
the seats apparently weren't armrests at all as thick bands of metal lined with soft leather on
the inside jumped up and immediately clamped around his wrists. Something similar
happened to his ankles simultaneously. He pulled on the restrains, testing them, before
concluding that they were, unfortunately, very strong and definitely inescapable without a bit
of outside help.

Rose was treated similarly, tossed down onto the seat next to the Doctor. She glanced at him
worriedly as the restraints pinned her to the seat. "Don't worry," The Doctor tried to smile.
"Intergalactic seatbelts. They wouldn't want us falling all around during the travel."

"Well what's wrong with the original earth design for seatbelts?" Rose muttered as she, too,
tugged on the manacles. "You know, the kind that allowed you to move more than one inch in
every direction?"

The Doctor glanced up at the collectors. They were still talking to the guards. Ren and – the
Doctor held back a snarl – Rat-Face had also appeared on the launch pad, listening to what
the collectors were saying.

The Doctor glanced around at their fellow hull-mates, note the range of different species' and
their varying levels of awareness. How soon would they, too, be drugged? And when they
awoke, what would happen next? Would they still be together?

The Doctor didn't want to take the chance that they will be. In all likeliness he and Rose will
be separated as soon as they reach the facility, sent off to different programs or whatever it
was they did. When the Doctor had encountered Eyal before it hadn't been in the slave
trafficking department and therefore he had little knowledge of what to expect, although he
did know some sort of grading system was involved…

Tearing his eyes away from their new 'masters' as Rat-Face had put it, the Doctor looked
intently at Rose.

"Rose, listen to me." Rose turned to look at him, seeing the determination and – was that a
hint of fear – within his eyes. "After this flight…" He paused, choking slightly. "We – we
might not see each other for a while."

Rose started to shake her head. "Doctor, what are you talking about?"

"Just listen." The collectors were finishing whatever they were saying. Something was being
handed to Ren that Rat-Face kept his eyes on greedily. "When we get there, I want you to do
whatever they tell you to, okay? They're slavers, but they're not cruel. This is a business for
them and it's bad for business if their product is damaged. But they expect obedience and
won't allow dissent. Do you understand what I'm saying? Don't let them hurt you if they don't
have to. Don't give them an excuse. Just cooperate and be okay. I –" The Doctor cut himself
off, swallowing heavily. Rose was watching him, that adorable little wrinkle just above her
nose as she furrowed her eyebrows. He could stare at the wrinkle for hours. Days.

But they didn't have days. They didn't even have minutes. The hull was closing up and the
collectors were making their way inside. The last view of the sun-burned, desert planet that
was still holding the TARDIS 'prisoner' became just a slit of light before the loading ram
slammed shut and was secured through a number of mechanical hisses, clicks, and clunks.

The collectors moved over to what appeared to be a large industrial refrigerator situated at the
back of the hull. They rummaged through it, ignoring their newest captures as well as the
older ones. The Doctor spun back to face Rose.

"I'm going to get us out." He promised. But the despondency barely concealed in his voice
gave him away. He had no idea how. For once, the great and mighty Doctor couldn't figure
out a solution. But Rose didn't address it. She just stretched out her fingers as far as she
could, straining towards the Doctor's hand. The Doctor did the same, and they just barely
managed to brush finger tips.

"I know you will." Rose reassured him with a small smile.

Outside on the rooftop, Ren watched as the ramp into the hull gradually moved up before
locking into place. He heard the buzz of the oxygen scene turning back on along the surface
of the ship, holding in the recycled air as it prepared for takeoff. He waited until he was sure
the collectors and the rest of the employees of Eyal were no longer watching them, and then
he whipped around to face that raping coward. He grabbed Rat-Face by the lapel of his shirt
and swung him around, slamming his back into the unyielding metal wall. A few of the other
guards turned to watch, shouting in surprise as their captain so suddenly attacked one of their
own before quickly ignoring the situation.

Rat-Face gasped for air as it was driven from his lungs by the force of the collision. He
coughed and Ren cringed as the foul smell reaches his nose. He pushed the unpleasantness
aside and forced his face with inches of the freak's pointy, greasy nose, glaring at him with all
the intimidation he could muster. "I told you I don't like people touching my things." He
growled.

To his surprise Rat-Face started to laugh. "She's not one of your things anymore, Captain."
He replied cheekily.

Ren drove the back of his hand viciously across his face. He stumbled, head snapping to the
side from the intensity of the hit. A hand-shaped bruise was already beginning to form.

Ren got right up in his face again, pinning his against the wall with his anger and his body.
Through barred teeth he managed to snarl, "You will keep a civil tongue in that mouth of
yours while you're talking to me or I will cut it out for you. And if you ever disregard one of
my direct orders again you'll be begging me for something as merciful as just cutting out your
tongue, do I make myself clear?"

Rat-Face nodded minutely, loathing shinning from his eyes. Ren released his hold on him and
started to stride back inside. The rest of the guards had already left. Therefore no one saw the
look of utter loathing Rat-Face made towards his retreating back. A look of loathing and a
dark, dangerous promise or payback for his humiliation.

Curiosity spiking, the Doctor reached out with his ears to hear what the collectors were
discussing so intently over by the refrigerator. Couldn't possibly just be water-cooler talk
amongst co-workers.

The ship had taken off just a moment ago, launching loudly and roughly into the sky. The
Doctor was actually happy they were strapped in so securely; a few of the collectors over
there had nearly fallen over with the abrupt take-off, sending a few curses towards the pilots
as they quickly tried to right themselves.

After that he heard one of them ask, "What species did you say they were?"

"Human. At least that's what the captain told us they identified as, and they match all the
appearance and behavioral traits of humans."

"Okay, so in that case, prepare one dose of the Roznesthylicprofen each. That should hold
them over till we get back to Eyal."
Roznesthylicprofen. Roznesthylicprofen. Where had he heard that before? He had definitely
heard of that before. Or at least…elements that made up that word. It was – Come on, Doctor,
think! – a drug! The Doctor's hearts practically stopped. Dread raced through him. No, no, no,
no, no…He knew exactly what type of drug that was. And it was completely harmless.

To a human.

But to a Time Lord…

The collectors turned back to their newest property, filling up two syringes with some clear
liquid from a vial. The Doctor immediately started panicking. His hearts raced the closer they
got. No. They couldn't use it. They couldn't give it to them.

He struggled against the restrains, trying to kick out of the ones around his ankles, tear out
the manacles around his wrists. A female collector was standing over him now, needle ready.
"No! Wait! Stop! You can't!" The Doctor tried to warn them. They didn't seem to be listening.

"Stay still." One of them commanded sternly. She placed a hand on his chest to steady him,
pinning him back against the wall of the hull as he tried to thrash away. The needle was
inches from the skin on his arm. So close to his blood supply.

"Please, stop. The drug – you can't. It'll kill me!" They seemed to think he was just trying to
get out of it, for they quickly jammed the needle into his skin, ejecting the liquid into his
bloodstream with an annoyed sigh. The Doctor cursed in Gallifreyan as his elevated hearts-
rate carried the drug further into his system.

Rose, having seen his reaction, started to panic herself. Anything that was enough to send the
Doctor over the edge – he had been begging! – was enough to terrify his companion. She
didn't realize the drug would be perfectly harmless and that all it would do is send her into a
pleasant deep sleep until they arrived at their destination. And the aspirin mixed into the
formula would certainly sooth any of her pain.

The needle slid into her skin as the collectors were quick to administer it, fearing she would
become hysterical as well. She didn't even have time to flinch as the Roznesthylicprofen was
flushed into her system.

The Doctor flinched though. He felt the drug flowing through his body, staining every cell. It
was like a poison. It was a poison. He gasped as the room began to pulse as if it had its own
heart beat. Like the speakers on a stereo turned up too loud. In fact even the sounds were
amplified. He could hear his own frantic hearts pounding against his chest, trying to get out
and escape the poison in his veins. Rose was whispering his name desperately, but it sounded
like a scream. Lights flashed, unnaturally bright, the colors distorting. His head swam. He felt
dizzy. Nauseous. The world tilted around him. His skin was too hot. His skin was too cold.
He couldn't tell. He was sweating. Or was he bleeding? Red dripped into his eyes. The room
was stained with it. And then it was gone. And then it was there. His breathing became raspy.
Air wasn't reaching his lungs. His throat had constricted. He gasped desperately. Nothing was
coming.
Rose shouted his name again. It fell too heavy on his ears. He cringed away. Impossibly loud
footsteps approached. "WHAT IS IT DOING?" The unfamiliar voice roared, but somewhere
deep inside the last remaining rational part of his mind told him is was just spoken.

"WHAT DID YOU DO TO HIM?" The voice of Rose demanded. The Doctor wanted to
clutch his head. It was too much. It was too much. He was shaking. Convulsing. He wanted
to ask her to be quiet. Why was everyone so loud? Where were they all? Who were they?
What is a Rose?

He opened his mouth to ask all these questions, but the only thing that came out was vomit.
Disgusting, burning, acidic bile stung the back of his throat and over his tongue. He seized.
His entire body trembled. Was he still vomiting? Why was he vomiting on the ceiling? How
were they all standing up-side-down?

His right heart gave up. No. the poison burst through his veins. It seared. It burned. And the
Doctor laughed. He laughed. How silly this pain was. And then he cried. He felt hands on
him, dragging him out of wherever he was sitting, laying him on the ground. He cried and
trembled, grasping at the hands, trying to hold on, to pin himself to reality. He was spinning
too fast. Someone was shouting his name, but their voice was getting distant. So very, very
far away.

His left heart pounded in his ears. Boom…

….Boom.

Too slow. It was getting slower. It was going out.

The Doctor slid his eyes shut to turn off the spinning. Turn off the lights. Turn off the demons
standing over him, touching him. Turn off the questions and the shouting.

And then everything, everything, turned off.

 Chapter 16

The scent of hospital was the first thing he became aware of. It stung his nose with an
unpleasant familiarity. He had never liked hospitals, despite what his chosen name might
have suggested. They rarely ever had a little shop.

He wasn't exactly warm, and what he was lying on wasn't exactly comfortable, but he was
warmer and more comfortable than he'd been the last few days. And he felt good, too.
Fantastic even. He curled his toes and twitched a few of his fingers, smiling at how easily and
painlessly they responded to the demand. Yes, the healing coma must have done wonders on
whatever had afflicted him because now he felt absolutely fantastic.

He prepared himself to slip back into unconsciousness, to take advantage of just a little more
sleep, but it seemed the world outside his little bubble of warmth had a different idea. He
heard footsteps, quick and clipped, like the owner of the feet was wearing a small heel. He
felt a hand touch his chest lightly, heard papers rustling and the beep of a machine reading
out its results. The Doctor decided it was all inconsequential and went to flip off his hearing
so he could fall back asleep.

But when the finger tried to lift up his eyelid to see the orb below, the Doctor flinched away.
"Do you mind?" He groaned indignantly, his voice still heavy with sleep and rough from lack
of use. His internal clock was about as disoriented as the Doctor felt, so he had no idea how
long he'd really been out. But he kept his eyes shut, hoping to fall back into oblivion soon
despite the disturbance.

"Doctor, 305 is awake now." An unfamiliar female voice announced.

The first thing that flashed across the Doctor's mind was who is three-oh-five and why do I
care if they're awake? He had been enjoying his sleep and wished just to return to it. But now
his senses demanded he stay awake and alert. The smell of antiseptic still burned around him.
He could hear the steady beeps of a heart monitor recording his double-beat hearts. All these
elements spiked his ever-present curiosity. He was in an infirmary…but when did he get
here? The last thing he remembered was boarding a ship headed for –

His eyes popped open, squinting against the sudden brightness that attacked his corneas. Yes,
definitely a hospital, judging from the searing artificial lights set high into the white ceiling.

"About time." Another voice, male this time, entered the Doctor's world. "It certainly waited
till the last second, didn't it. We were going to pull the plug on it tomorrow."

The Doctor's eyes darted in the direction of the voice as a man entered his limited line of
sight. The man was clearly Drephesh, his orange eyes shinning under the glare of the hospital
lights, his tan skin dulled slightly from what the Doctor assumed was years of working
indoors. He wore a white coat and gloves and the Doctor quickly realized that he was the
'Doctor' referred to before. And that would make the Time Lord '305'…
The medic came up to stand beside the nurse at the Doctor's bedside. The medic paid him no
heed as he quickly took up a chart and began reading through it, glancing at one of the
machines before finally looking down at the Doctor as if he were simply an interesting
specimen beneath a microscope.

"Fascinating." The medic commented. "It's healing element is quite incredible. By all
reckoning there should be some severe permanent damage to its organs and functions, but
they all appear to be fine." He flipped through the papers again, glowing with intrigue. "What
are you, you mysterious thing?" He mused quietly.

"I'm right here, that's what I am." The Doctor chimed in, somewhat annoyed already. "So do
you think you could stop talking about me as if I'm not?"

The medic glanced down as if surprised that the creature on the bed had spoken. He raised his
eyebrows as he leaned over his patient. "Can you understand what I'm saying?" He said
slowly and clearly.

The Doctor's eyes narrowed ever so slightly at the medic's condescending tone. "Yes, of
course I can understand what you're saying. Now do you mind telling me what's going on?
And seriously," He squirmed as the nurse bent down and started poking and prodding his
right arm around a small spot which was strangely sore and bruised. She then began to move
down his body, checking his pulse and his chest and then his stomach. "This is a pretty severe
breach in personal space without any explanation, I think."

The nurse continued to move down his body and the Doctor tried to shift out of her reach,
swat her hand away as it began to move towards an uncomfortably personal area. That was
when he noticed the thick leather straps on his wrists, holding them down against the edges
of the bed. Panic started to weed its way into his system. The last time he'd been tied down
something bad had happened. Something that clearly cause him to wind up in an infirmary.
He couldn't remember what, though – it danced on the edge of his cloudy memory – and he
didn't like it one bit. Why was he being strapped down?

The medic didn't seem to notice his discomfort. He turned to another nurse hovering in the
background with a handheld computer. "Good," The medic commented. "Ms. Lyhol, please
note that 305 can skip the language training. It seems perfectly capable of communicating."
The nurse quickly began typing, responding with a "Yes, Dr. Vadim."

"Great," The Doctor said sarcastically. "Now do you mind communicating why you have me
strapped down?"

Dr. Vadim turned his attention back to the bed. "You were very disturbed when you were first
brought in and suffered a few seizures. The straps were applied to keep you from injuring
yourself inadvertently and have remained since we had no way of knowing your manner and
previous training."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "Previous training...?" He mused in a quiet voice. "I haven't
–"
Then suddenly the event on the shuttle came crashing back to him. He remembered hearing
the collectors mention the drug, an altered mixture of various human medications that should
have been completely harmless had he not been lying about being human. He remembered
the pain, the immediate delusional state he'd fallen into. He remembered the way he felt his
right heart go out. The way he could feel his left heart slowly giving up as well. He should be
dead. And not just regenerative dead; dead dead. Stone-cold, rigor mortis type dead. But he
wasn't.

"H-how –" Was the only thing he managed to say as he looked down at his hands, half
expecting to see them either glowing gold with imminent regeneration or gray and decaying
with dead stringy skin.

"You had an allergic reaction to the drug administered to you during transportation that was
meant to cancel out the effects of Space Sickness. A pretty severe allergic reaction, I might
add, considering there was a very small amount of acetylsalicylic acid in the injection. You
went into dual cardiac arrest upon landing and came very close to the end. We just barely
managed to pull you back with a combination of portaquin and trancosis, which canceled out
the effects of your aversion to acetylsalicylic acid, thanks to the knowledge your mate
provided us with."

"My mate?"

Dr. Vadim nodded. "Yes, the female you were brought in with."

The Doctor frowned. Who had he been with? His memories burned as he tried to smoke out
the grogginess of his mind. Why couldn't he remember? He had been with someone
extremely important, someone he cared for very, very much and was subconsciously crippled
with guilt over…

And then everything, everything, came slamming back. Being chased down the hillside by
Drepheshie natives. Being captured by the men of the outpost and being tortured by the sun.
That man, that rodent, leering at him as he touched…as he hurt…as he defiled…

"ROSE!" He immediately tried to sit up, tearing against the restraints holding him down. His
right wrist felt incredibly sore as it pressed against the leather. He didn't feel it though.
"Where is she? What happened?"

He continued to struggle and pull against the cuffs as Dr. Vadim stared down at him,
eyebrows raised and interested. After a second he calmly turned to one of the nurses. "Give it
two mgs of Isoscicosine. Calm it down for now." He ordered in a calm, demanding voice.
The nurses quickly complied, one slamming the Doctor's shoulders back into the pillow with
surprising force and holding him down as the other swiftly inserted another needle into his
neck. The Doctor allowed himself to be held down, his adrenaline rush quickly fading away.
But the nurse had already injected the new drug. The Doctor shivered with minute fear as he
flashed back to what happened the last time he'd been drugged by these people, but not long
after that thought he felt it vanish. Every thought was vanishing now. The world was
darkening around the edges and Dr. Vadim leaned forward to peer closer into the Doctor's
slowly closing eyes.
Vadim and the nurses stood back as they watched a sluggish, sleepy smile spread across the
creatures face. Its eyes were half closed as the drug quickly began to seep into its system. Its
hearts-rate slowed, the heart monitor recording the steady decrease in pace, as the creature
began to breathe deep and languidly. It relaxed into the thin pillow and emitted a small
bubble of a laugh. "Where's Rose?" It asked again, but this time its voice was light and
'happy'. "Where is she? I need – I need to tell her a joke." It began giggling to itself and
Vadim and the nurses shared a quick, confused, and slightly amused glance.

"It certainly reacts quickly to the drugs."

Vadim sighed. "That would be due to it's amazing binary vascular system. The two hearts
working together help carry the blood through the body more efficiently than our singular
heart system. I'm willing to gamble this year's salary to say he has incredible wells of energy
that can run on very little for a very long time. Quite impressive."

He leaned over the creature once more, staring at the slightly giggly thing with intense
intellectual hunger. This creature had a remarkable physiology from what he had seen so far
from the tests they had done. He had never seen anything quite like it. "But I can tell you one
thing." He added as he finally turned away from the being on the medical bed.

"What's that, doctor?" One of the nurses replied obediently.

"Whatever it is, it certainly isn't human." He smiled slightly at the mystery as he took up the
patient's chart. "Shall we continue with the tests?"

"Yes, doctor." The nurse who had been holding the doctor down scurried off to gather more
supplies.

"Have we received the report of its species from Headquarters yet?" The doctor inquired.

"No, sir, Headquarters says they still can't classify it and are subcontracting the project to
Galactic Command now, expediting our results to their larger archives."

Vadim gave another disappointed groan. "And knowing them it will be another month before
they even get around to that report. Looks like we'll have to wait till you're attentive once
again to find out what you are, 305." He spoke to the creature, who now seemed to be
mumbling something in a foreign language with a goofy smile on its face. "In the meantime,
this one will be fine. You can take it back to it's cage once it's aware again and alert the
Keeper of its status."

"Yes, doctor." Another nurse said as she hurried off to do her job, but suddenly the creature
started giggling again.

"Doctor?" It said through it's hiccupped laughs. It chuckled again and Dr. Vadim had to lean
down to distinguish it's next words, thinking it was calling for him. But instead all he heard
was, "Ehehe, that's my name, too." Before it giggled itself into a drug induced sleep.
The Eyal Facility had a fantastic public image; visitors and customers were led through well-
kept hallways lined with large, bright cells where the slaves up for sale lounged casually back
against mattressed bunks. They were shown the medical facility with all its impressive
machines and flowing supplies that would help tend to the sick laying in the comfortable
white medical beds – but, of course, no one was ever sick when the inspections happened.
They were even taken out to the small yet surprisingly spacious outdoor recreation area
where slaves were allowed to exercise and socialize in order to increase health and moral
among the stock.

However, once you pass the 'Employees Only' signs…

The Doctor was led down a narrow hallway filled with small, cramped cages. Aliens of all
sorts peered out at them, flinching away from the employees who led him down the line.
There were so many of them, and from so many different races and planets. Felspoon,
Hermethica, Messaline, Catrigan Nova, Barcelona, Apalapucia, and even one of two, the
Doctor saw, from Raxacoricofallapatorius. And so many more. They all cowered towards the
back of their cages as the Doctor and his ushers moved passed. The Doctor looked around in
horror at the state of neglect these poor aliens had been left in.

He had woken back up in the same room as before, still strapped to the bed, just an hour or so
after being drugged into that near state of hilarity. This time when he woke, he had no sleepy
delusions of where he was or what had happened. He remembered everything from the last
week with painful clarity, and he could now take in the medical room lucidly. It may have
been an infirmary, but the room was too cold and dark everywhere else but around the bed,
and the quality of the instruments and machines were laughable at best. The place was not
designed with the comfort or reassurance for its patients in mind.

Not long after waking up he heard that they had already taken blood samples, tissue samples,
xrays, scans, both MRI and CAT, along with various other tests regarding his physiology and
health. Then two guards appeared in the infirmary and began unstrapping the Doctor from the
table, but didn't give him a chance to stand on his own as they instantly dragged him to his
feet and shoved him out the door and down various hallways.

After about a week of unconsciousness – the Doctor's chronometer had finally kicked back
into gear and alerted him of the length of his healing coma – it was a bit hard to find
supportive footing at first, and the guards were completely unhelpful as they just shoved him
between the shoulder blades to keep him moving forward. They didn't say a word to him and
whenever he went to open his mouth or utter a sound they were quick to silence him with a
swift kick or punch. After the first few times, the Doctor figured out it was probably within
his best interest to keep quiet.

The guards promptly pulled the Doctor to a halt, unlocked one of the empty cages, and
practically threw him inside. The grated ground proved uneven as the Doctor tripped from the
force of their push, and he collapsed to his knees on the ground, hands flying out to stop the
fall. There was sniggering behind him as the guards turned and left the 'slave' in his new
home, slamming the cage door shut behind him.

After recovering from the fall the Doctor took in his new room, but found there wasn't
anything to really see. The cell was little better than a dog kennel, barely tall enough for him
to stand in with hunched shoulders, but no where near tall enough for him to stand at full
height. It was shallow, only about four feet deep, so it would be impossible to lie down fully.
And the thick metal wiring that criss-crossed the space between cages did not look
comfortable to lean against at all. There was no bunk, no mattress, no toilet, no light.
Nothing.

The truth was, that well-kept hallway was the only cellblock with large, bright cells for its
inmates, who were slaves Eyal bought themselves to play the roles of content, healthy items,
as well as to sometimes keep the guards entertained and happy. That infirmary was for the
sick or injured employees and was mostly kept empty while the sick slaves were either taken
to the room the Doctor had just left or were taken to the back to be put down, depending on
the severity of their illness or injury. To be honest, the Doctor was amazed they had kept him
around for as long as they did without ending him. Nothing about Eyal was as it seemed.

The Doctor leaned his head back against the wiring of his cage, having chosen to just sit
down in one of the corners rather than try standing. He peered through the thick mesh and
saw an alien in the cell next to him; a young looking girl with raven-black hair and flawless
dark red skin the color of summer wine, spoil by a greenish-purple bruise forming around her
right eye. She watched the Doctor worriedly from where she sat curled up against the back of
her own cage, arms wrapped protectively around herself. The Doctor smiled kindly. "Hello."
He said, hoping to get a response from the girl, but she just shook her head, eyes widening
with fear. The Doctor frowned. "What is –"

The flooring of his cage suddenly became active as a sharp shock was sent up into his body.
He hissed, jumping up as the pain hit him by surprise and accidentally rammed the top of his
head into the ceiling of his cage. There was more laughing outside, accompanied by the
harshly spat order, "NO talking, slave!"

The Doctor folded himself back down, glaring at nothing in particular, before turning back to
the girl. She was still watching him intently with her big black eyes. The Doctor shrugged
with one shoulder and mouthed hello to her instead. A flicker of a smile passed over her face
before she tucked her head back into the crook of her arms, disappearing from this cruel
world.

After a moment the Doctor crawled towards the front of his cage, grasping the wire as he
tried to get a good look into the other pens around him. There was a Slitheen across the way,
starved and battered, a Hath to it's right and a Korvan who looked rather worse for wear to
the left. The Doctor pressed his face against the mesh, trying to see further down the isles. He
saw so many different shapes and forms and colors all huddled alone and scare in their own
little kennels.

But none of them, as far as he could see (which wasn't very far), had the soft pink flesh and
yellow hair of the one he was searching for.

TBC
 Chapter 17

As the night wore on, the Doctor thought this was the worst torture he had endured in a long,
long time. Boredom and worry intermixed in his mind like a horrible poison, making him
fidgety and anxious, which had no place in this cramped, tiny cage. The rest of the cellblock
had long since fallen asleep – the red-skinned girl in the cage next door having rolled onto
her side, never releasing her position with her knees drawn to her chest. The sounds of
unquiet slumber permeated the air in the cellblock as many fought off fear and nightmares
and undoubtedly the clawing fingers of starvation.

The Doctor, however, had no intention or ability to sleep. He had been asleep for a whole
week and his body was ready for another bout of excitement and adventure. The cell was too
small to pace in, and he was left with nothing to fiddle around with besides his own fingers
and that one loose tassel of thread hanging off the sleeve of the large grey tee-shirt he'd been
given to wear, along with a pair of similar colored track pants.

At first, when everything had quieted down and the night guards were no where to be seen,
the Doctor crawled up to the front of his cage again and examined the latch on his cell. It was
actually quite a simple pin tumbler lock, easy to pick with the right materials, and the
distance between the meshing on his cage allowed for a few fingers to make it though the
gap. However, the Doctor soon found out in a very painful manner that the lock had a
pressurized current running through it, so as soon as the skin on his finger brushed against the
latch a sharp zap shot up his arm. The Doctor huffed in annoyance. Seriously, they must have
a huge electric bill with all the shocking they're doing around here, he thought as he leaned
back against the cage wall once more, absentmindedly running his fingers over the rough and
sore new marks on the inside of his right wrist. The symbols MD196305had been tattooed
into his skin in fine print at some point during his coma, but the area was still slightly
inflamed, red, and annoyingly tender. The tip of his finger passed over the 305 – his new
name, apparently.

The hours ticked on and eventually his thoughts managed to force their way back to Rose. He
had tried not thinking about her, because every time he did a piercing pang of worry and
guilty threatened to cut him in half. But after so long, and with so little to do, he couldn't help
the stray thoughts finger their way to the forefront of his mind.

Where was she? Was she okay? Had she listened to his advice from back on the shuttle and
cooperated? Or upon landing had she immediately began to disobey? He thought about how
she must have felt on that flight, watching him seizing on the floor, writhing as that teeny tiny
amount of Aspirin nearly destroyed him, and then seeing his body getting carted off to who-
knew where the moment the shuttle's legs hit home. It had been a week. Was she still worried
about him? Did she think he was dead?

The Doctor swallowed heavily as that thought bred another, even more unwelcome question.
What if she was dead? Rose. His perfect Rose. She had always been a fighter, but there was
not room for stubborn rebellion in this place. Dissent was punished severely, but the penalty
for open and consistent disobedience was to be put down. An unruly slave is an unprofitable
slave.

The fear of that pressed against him until it brought tears to his eyes. They burned as a thin
layer before his eyes and he only just managed to hold them back. Breaking down
was not going to help right now. What he needed was to keep a level head.

Morning came around in an agonizingly slow manner. The Doctor heard other prisoners
beginning to wake up while others slept on. The red-skinned girl woke and cautiously
uncurled herself from her cramped position on the floor and moved to stand as far as she
could in the corner of her own cage, black hair curtaining her down turned face. This was the
first time the Doctor saw her full body and he was surprised to see that, despite how slight
she was, she did not appear frail at all. Her eyes darted up for a quick second, meeting the
Doctor's as he watched her, and she quickly jerked her head to the side, pointing with her
eyes towards the corner of his cage.

The Doctor frowned and was about to ask her what she meant when a jarringly loud ringing
suddenly blasted through the room, accompanied by another quick shock sent through the
floor. From the sounds of yelps and hisses, the Doctor guessed it had happened to everyone.
The wake-up call. The red-skinned girl, however, just pressed herself further into the corner,
standing on bare tiptoes, and didn't even appear to have been shocked at all. She stepped
away from the wall as the alarm stopped, giving the Doctor an apologetic, if not slightly
patronizing, look before sliding back into her fetal position on the floor. The Doctor gapped
at her routine. How long did she have to have been there in order to develop a routine?

Employees stormed their way down the isle of cages and began opening up several of the
doors. A guard began unlocking the Doctor's cage and the Doctor didn't even have time to
react before the man grabbed him roughly by the collar of his shirt and dragged him out of
the cage. The Doctor stumbled as the guard pushed him forcefully down the hallway where a
bunch of other slaves were being directed. "Go! Come on! Move!" The shouts of the guards
rose above the silent shuffling of the prisoners, who, the Doctor noticed, were all barefoot
like him and wearing the same type of clothes. He then noticed that all the slaves pulled out
of their cells were male. He looked around, just in case, for a head of long blonde hair, but
was quickly cuffed on the back of the head by a passing guard who told him to "Look
forward and keep moving."

The Doctor obediently followed the rest of the men down the isle, wishing he had been given
shoes as the rough metal grating of the ground dug into his heels. They were led through an
archway on the opposite end of the corridor that broke into a fork. The Doctor fell in with the
stream heading to the right and let out an audible sigh of relief as he realized the room they'd
been led into was a large bathroom, long and narrow with multiple toilets and sinks, but no
mirrors or showers. The Doctor quickly did his business, washed his grimy hands, and
splashed some water on his face, running his wet fingers up through his hair at the end in
hopes of washing away some of the grease and dirt that had made a home there. Then he
followed the others through a door on the other end of the bathroom.

This time the doors opened up into a darkly-lit cafeteria of sorts. The men lined up, shoulders
hunched and eyes downcast, in front of a table holding a large cooking pot and bowls. On the
other side of the room another line was forming of all women. The Doctor scanned the line
quickly but saw no one distinctly human or blonde, so he picked up a bowl and moved
forward to receive his breakfast. He frowned slightly as the server spooned a relatively small
amount of watery, lukewarm soup with bits of what looked like Earth's potatoes into his
bowl. At least it was better than the goop they'd been fed at the outpost, but it was still a
pathetic amount.

"Please, sir, I want some more." The Doctor smiled charmingly as he held the bowl out
towards the server once more. All he received was a non-amused glare. "No? Like Oliver
Twist? Not a fan? Fine," The Doctor sighed, "I'll get out of your line, Mr. Bumble." He
trudged away with his meager amount of breakfast.

The dining area was set up like any regular cafeteria; a couple long tables with benches
attached to them lining the hall with 'lunch monitors', or in this case guards, standing vigilant
along the sides and by the doors. The inmates all sat scattered around the room, some
forming silent groups as they gravitated towards the comfort of company while others chose
to isolate themselves from the rest. There was very little conversation going on between
them, and the quiet was a little too much for the Doctor's personal liking.

After scanning the hall for a moment, feeling more and more like a transfer student on the
first day at a new school, his eyes finally fell on one familiar face. The red-skinned girl sat by
herself in the corner of one of the tables, slowly eating from her bowl. Plastering a smile to
his face, the Doctor bounded over and plopped onto the bench across from her. The girl
looked up, startled, black eyes wide, before she recognized him and relaxed minutely. She set
her spoon down and kept her eyes skeptically on the Doctor as he scooted closer.

"Hello!" He said cheerfully. "Remember me, your next door neighbor?" The girl simply
nodded, so the Doctor went on. "Clever little trick you had this morning. What's your name?"

The girl frowned and after a moment of hesitation showed him the inside of her
wrist. FD195212 had been inked and healed into her skin. "No, no, not your number,
your name." The Doctor clarified as he dove into his soup, cringing as the potato-like chunks
turned to mush upon contact with his tongue.

"We don't go by names here." The girl responded quietly after cautiously glancing around.
"They just call me 212."

"Well you had to have gone by a name at some point in your life. You're from the planet
Shelwick, aren't you, an Aonian? Yes, of course. I've been there before. Lovely planet, but it
could do without the murderous grass, in my opinion. It was quite annoying trying to have a
nice, quiet picnic while fighting off the blades of living-lawn. But anyway, judging by the
black speckles forming along your neckline and the way the color of your fingers have been
flickering between red and white ever since I started talking, showing a developing grasp of
controchrome, I'd say you're about…twenty-five years old?" The Doctor scooped up another
mouthful of lukewarm broth as the girl simply stared at him, aghast. "No offence." He added
quickly.

"Twenty-one." She corrected him with a slightly tart tone. "And I already have developed
mature controchrome, thank you very much."
"Oh! Congratulations! Took me about a century to master that, but let's just say lack of
practice has left me controchrome-less."

The girl scoffed. "I saw your chart. Human's can't develop controchrome." The Doctor just
winked at her with a cheeky smile.

"So, come on, what's your name?" He asked again after a short bout of silence. The Aonian
returned to her own bowl, stirring around the watery substance. "What did your parents call
you, then?"

"Slaves aren't allowed to name their young. That's up to the master." She responded without
looking up.

That froze the Doctor in his tracks. Her parents had been slaves. She had been born into this.
But she couldn't possibly have been here, in Eyal, for twenty-one years…could she? He was
almost afraid to ask, so instead opted for a less direct approach. "And what did your master
call you?"

She paused for a second, as if trying to remember. "He called me…Lalay."

The Doctor smiled. "Lalay. That's a gorgeous name. You should hang onto that one."

Lalay shook her head as she spooned the last of her soup into her mouth. "I'm not Lalay
anymore. I'm 212. And once my next master comes up with a name for me, I will be that.
And you shouldn't call me anything else unless you want to get in even more trouble."

"You deserve to have a name, Lalay. You're a person. Not an item, not a thing they can
categorize numerically."

Lalay stood up suddenly, picking up her empty bowl and spoon as she did so. "That's exactly
what we are." She said stiffly before pointedly glancing down at his own upturned wrist.
"And the sooner you accept that, 305, the easier you'll survive this place."

And with that she spun around, moving back towards the serving table, and deposited her
bowl, leaving the Doctor sitting alone on the bench. He huffed out a frustrated, sympathetic
sigh and silently prayed to Rassilon he would never start thinking like that, not matter how
much pain it would put him in in the future. He would change her mind. Eventually. She had
been treated like a thing her entire life, which was probably why she felt as if it were true.
After a little bit of being treated like a person maybe she would finally see that that is what
she deserves.

The Doctor glanced around at the rest of the quiet, worn, downhearted slaves milling around
the cafeteria and wondered how many of them had lost their ability to see that as well.

He didn't have long to ponder this as he heard heavy booted footsteps coming towards him.
Suddenly the sound reminded him too much of their time at the outpost and he felt himself
shrink instinctively away. He went to grab another bite of his breakfast, but as the spoon was
halfway to his mouth, pale, watery substance dripping over the edges, he was abruptly
grabbed from behind and hauled to his feet. He gave a little shout of protest as the spoonful
of soup fell and landed on his pant leg as he was pulled over the bench.

The guards spun him around and shoved him across the dining hall towards a third door. A
few inmates looked up and watched with veiled interest while others pointedly kept their eyes
on their meals. The Doctor barely even had time to put up an argument as they marched him
through the door and into a long, white corridor on the other side. More doors lined the walls,
each with a number but no names or identifications. Kind of like the rest of us trapped here.

"You could have at least let me finish eating." He pouted instead. "You know, breakfast is the
most important meal of the day after all. I'd hate to not have enough energy to go through
whatever you're bringing me towards simply due to an avoidable lack of nutrition."

He paused to see if the guards would respond. They did not. The Doctor blew a stream of air
out through his nose. "Blimey, not a lot of good conversationalists in this place."

They led him about halfway down the corridor and jerked him to a halt before one of the
doors. Number 16. They opened the door and threw the Time Lord inside, snapping it shut
behind him. The Doctor stumbled but caught himself quickly, just in time to hear a bolt
sliding into place on the door.

The room itself was actually quite nice (but then again everything was nice compared to the
cage he'd spent the night in). The walls were a dark cream color while the floor was all white
tiles. It was cool in here and smelt clean, but not the overwhelmingly sanitary stench of the
hospital room he'd woken up in. However, there was nothing in the room. No chairs or tables
or plants or pictures to occupy the Doctor's ever-present curiosity.

So instead he occupied his sudden alone time by getting down on his hands and knees and
measuring the distance between each tile and counting how many tiles were in a row and how
many rows there were and, therefore, how many tiles there should be in the room and how
many inches exactly the room's area contained.

So engrossed he was in his calculations that he didn't hear the door unlock and open until it
slammed shut with a loud BANG! He jumped at the sound, scurrying to his feet as two men
entered the room. He recognized the doctor who had been in the medical room the first day,
but the other man was unfamiliar. He was tall, though not quite as tall as the Doctor, with a
muscular build and dark orange eyes that scrutinized the Doctor as he quickly stood
awkwardly at the center of the room.

"How are you feeling, 305?" The medic asked, looking down at the chart he'd brought in with
him. "Any dizziness, nausea, pain in the chest, or blackout moments?"

The Doctor shook his head as he bounced forward on the balls of his feet. "Nope. Fit as a
fiddle. Thanks for patching me up, doctor."

The medic ignored him and turned to the other man. "It seems to have it's energy back,
though it does seem manically excitable, which could be an adrenaline high from being in a
new setting and could soon drop or fade away. I recommend that you go easy on it's training
for now, Bachir, until we can get a better understanding of its natural state."
'Thank you, doctor, I'll make sure to keep that in mind." The man, Bachir, said stiffly as he
continued to watch the Doctor shift on his feet, unable to stand still under the impassive
glare. He reminded the Doctor of a drill sergeant in the military; harsh, impersonal, and
unforgiving, with just a hint of sadistic pleasure found in other's suffering. He already knew
right off the bat that he wasn't going to enjoy his company at all.

The medic nodded. "Well then, if you're sure everything feels normal, 305, I'll leave you to
your keeper." He left the room quickly, passing the clipboard over to his co-worker. Bachir
read over a bit of the medic's notes before dropping the chart. It made a harsh snap as it hit
the tiled ground. The Doctor repressed the urge to flinch at the sound. Something – no,
everything – about this man set him on edge. But he hid it all, as usual, behind a false
welcoming smile.

"Hello! So, I guess you're my 'keeper' now? Going to train me all up to be a good little slave
and please my mast – OUFF!"

Bachir's fist slammed without warning into the Doctor's gut with such force that the Time
Lord found himself suddenly down two knees and a hand, the other wrapped tightly around
his abdomen as he gasped for breath. He didn't get a chance to recover as another fist
smashed into his jaw, sending him falling sideways. He tasted thick, metallic blood drench
his tongue from where his teeth bit into the wall of his cheek. A leather boot made contact
with his side. A rib cracked. The bone shifted painfully beneath his skin as the heel of the
boot was driven into his stomach, knocking the wind out of him once again. It continued, one
blow or kick after another, until the Doctor lay curled on the ground curled tightly into the
smallest ball his lanky body could make, trying to avoid whatever hit might come next. It felt
like it went on for ages.

Finally, the keeper stepped back, panting slightly from the beating he'd just administered and
brushing back a strand of black hair that had fallen out of place during the chaos. The Doctor
allowed himself to unravel from his protective ball, his muscles screaming and crying from
the abuse. To both of their surprise, he started to laugh. He started to laugh so as to keep the
tears from forming and falling from his eyes.

"So…this is – what you do?" He wheezed as he fought once more for air. "Beat the – d-
daylights out of your students? You must get – fantastic class reviews."

Bachir grabbed the front of the Doctor's shirt and lifted him up. The Doctor's face was cut
and bleeding and already forming dark bruises around his left eye and cheek. Bachir released
him, forcing the Doctor to stand on his own. The Doctor wrapped one arm around his
damaged torso while the other hung limply at his side, dislocated at the shoulder.

"You will not speak out of turn, 305." He instructed as he began to move around the Doctor,
examining him as he tried to alleviate as much pain from his body as possible. "You will refer
to me only as sir and only when I have asked you for a direct response. You will not object or
hesitate to comply with any of my commands and you will do so in a gracious manner. Any
failure to meet these rules will be punished. If I believe you are holding back, you will be
punished. If, for any reason, I feel you are being resistant or disobedient, you will be
punished. I am here to train you, not baby-sit you, and you will work hard in order to better
satisfy your new master when you are bought. Am I making myself clear? You will respond
with either a 'yes, sir' or a 'no, sir'."

The Doctor's eyes burned in annoyance as he listened to the man list off every limit to his
freedom. Well, he might not technically be a 'free' man, but that didn't mean he was about to
roll over, sit, or shake on command.

"So, tell me," Came the Doctor's response after a moment. "Which of your rules did I break
so as to earn this round of punishment, sir?" He hissed the last word sarcastically. His words
were met with a sharp back-hand that sent him sliding into the wall. He pressed against it as
Bachir stepped up close, pinning him against the wall as their noses nearly touched.

"This is simply your first lesson, 305. A lesson in position. You have done absolutely nothing
so far so as not to deserve this beating. You must first earn your right to avoid a beating, and
know that it is never within your ability to tell whether you deserve praise or scolding. And it
will continue until you have learned to accept this fact. The first step in producing a
compliant animal is to remove it's belief that it deserves better. You are an animal, 305, a
thing, a possession, and what you deserve is to be put down. We are taking you in and
educating you out of the goodness of our hearts and it is therefore your duty to repay us for
our kindness."

He stepped back and pulled the Doctor away from the wall, swinging him around by the front
of his shirt and shoving him back towards the middle of the room. The Doctor tripped and
fell, landing with a pained howl on his dislocated shoulder. He rolled over to see his keeper
standing over him, holding a leather whip that seemed to have appeared out of nowhere. The
Doctor's eyes widened as he stared at it. No. No, was this really going to happen?

Bachir tapped the whip harmlessly in the palm of his hand, eliciting a shard crack from the
leather. "Your training," He said down to the frozen slave at his feet. "Will begin once I am
completely convinced you have accepted your rightful place, which is right here at your
master's feet. Until then –"

The whip cut through the air, creating a gently whishing noise before... CRACK!
 Chapter 18

CRACK!

CRACK!

CRACK!

The smallest whimper escaped the Doctor's lips as the braided leather ripped through the
already torn and bloodied skin on his back. Tears burned his cheeks as his face was further
pressed into the unforgiving cold tiles of the floor. His shirt had been torn off before the
session began and now the ridged bottom of a boot was pressed against his shoulder blades,
pinning him to the ground as the whip was brought down on his lower back over and over
again.

CRACK!

This was session number twelve. Day six. The routine had quickly been established and the
Doctor did not like it one bit. Every morning during his one meal and every night while he
lay curled and recovering in his cage, they came for him and hauled him back to that room.
No words would be exchanged before the blows began to fall, and even the Doctor, master of
allowing his gob to run away with him, was unable to talk his way out of his 'training'. At
first he'd fought back, dodging his keeper's fists and feet with relative ease thanks to his
advanced reflexes, but that only resulted in the return of the whip and the fiery sting of the
leather cutting into his skin. That, along with the Doctor's exhausted, starved, abused body,
ended the Doctor's physical resistance.

CRACK!

"Just give in." Lalay had advised him on the third day as he limped up to her in the cafeteria,
plopping down on the bench as if his legs had suddenly decided to take their lunch break and
give out on him. He simply shook his head, offering what he hoped was a reassuring smile,
before attempting to shovel down as much breakfast as he could before they came for him. It
was always in vain; once the 'training' began it was always a struggle just to keep the
unsatisfying substance down, and more often than not the Doctor ended up failing. He was
beginning to feel the painful gnawing of starvation and malnutrition plaguing his body. But
he didn't give in. He'd endured worse before, and, knowing his line of work and certain
proclivity for danger, he most likely would in the future again. This was a battle of wills in
the end.

CRACK!

However, with each crack of the whip and shredding of his back, the Doctor felt his will
lessen. Not enough to break him – it would take far more than this to break a Time Lord – but
enough for him to consider sacrificing his pride and ego in the hopes of lessening his unjust
punishment. Perhaps Lalay had the right idea all along; appease the keepers and hopefully
earn yourself a bit of relief time so as to recover or, in the Doctor's case, plot. He hadn't had a
single chance over the last few days to think about anything, much less enough time to figure
out a way to escape. Every spare moment of his time when he wasn't being used as a
punching bag or whipping post the Doctor spent asleep, healing his wounds and retaining as
much energy as he could. They gave him no medical help (well, that was more or less true,
for the treatment he was given for his injuries felt like it caused more harm than good) and so
he relied largely on his own regenerative energy to help soothe his aching body. None of the
injuries inflicted were debilitating – they wanted to break their slaves, not break their slaves –
but that didn't make them hurt any less.

CRACK!

He cried out, biting his tongue to silence it but it was too late. Another strike came soon after
and he wasn't quick enough to bottle up that shout of pain either. How many strikes had it
been? At least two dozen. Maybe more. He couldn't remember. The lines of destroyed skin
criss-crossed each other all over his back, causing them to stretch and strain even more. Just
breathing made it even more painful.

He heard the dull clatter of the whip hitting the ground on the other side of the room and
dared to release a sigh of relief. The boot on his shoulder stepped back and the Doctor
immediately attempted to push himself up, scurry away from his tormentor, but the foot came
back quickly, slamming him back onto the ground, digging and tearing into the fresh wounds
on his lower back. The Doctor screamed out as his back felt like it was engulfed in flames.
More pressure was added by the boot and, writhing beneath it, the Doctor couldn't take much
more. "No…" He whispered painfully into the ground. "P-p-please…"

That hurt even more than the beating. They had gotten a plea out of him, they got him to beg.
The Doctor shuddered at how easy it had been. He had lasted six whole days without
begging. He had only lasted six short days before begging. He couldn't tell which twist of the
statement was true. Was he strong or was he weak? He simply couldn't tell anymore.

Bachir lightly jabbed the Doctor's side with his toe in response, signaling that it was now
acceptable to get up. The Doctor shoved himself up on shaking arms so he was resting on his
knees, the lashes across his back screaming in agony as the muscles beneath his skin moved
and twisted. He tried to discretely wipe his eyes, which were now red and swollen from
failing to suppress his tears.

As was customary after these sessions, a bucket of soapy water and a rag were thrown at him.
"Clean up." His keeper commanded as he stomped out the door, another slave – the Doctor
assumed he was another one of Bachir's trainees, further along in the program then he –
hurrying after him with dead, down-turned eyes. The Doctor sighed despairingly as he
grabbed the rag, drenched it in the soapy water, and began to clean his own orange-red blood
off the floor. He supposed it wasn't so outrageous of a request; he had caused the mess, after
all. It was his blood staining the floor, defiling the pure whiteness of the tiles, and therefore it
was his fault, his responsibility. If he hadn't bled there wouldn't be a sticky red mess to clean
up, so he might as well right his wrong.

No! The Doctor reprimanded himself as he wrung out the already scarlet rag. He hated that he
was already starting to think like that. Of course it was an outrageous request! He had just
been tortured until his own valuable life-liquid ran across the tiles in streams and was then
forced to clean it all up with his back still ravaged and burning. Blood was still running from
the slashes and hitting the floor, adding even more work to his load. But he scrubbed away at
the ground anyway, attempting to keep ahead of the freshly gushing blood.

He had tried on the first day to object. Bachir threw him the bucket and rag, instructed him to
clean, and left. The Doctor had laughed, not really believing Bachir was expecting him to say
"Yes, sir!" and quickly follow the order with a smile on his face. And so he didn't touch the
rag. He didn't touch it for hours. No one came back. The door was latched from the outside,
so the Doctor was forced to stay put. After hours and hours the overwhelming stench of his
own blood made him want to wretch, but there was nothing in his stomach to throw up. He
became so thirsty but the only water in the room was filled with inedible soap. He soon
realized that he couldn't stay in there for much longer, but no one was going to come for him
until he finished his task. And so, begrudgingly, the Doctor took up the rag and began to
clean. It was another half hour before the tiles were once again white and the soapy water
was pink, and then finally the door opened and he was dragged back to his cage, given a
bottle of water and two slices of bread, and finally left to sleep.

That, with a few exceptions, had also become part of the routine. Now the Doctor sat on his
knees while he scrubbed away the last of the blood, trying in vain to ignore his angry back.
His hands were raw from the harsh soap and were now stained pink. The door was thrown
open just as he wrung out the rag for the last time and he suppressed the urge to flinch. "You
finished yet?" One of the guards asked callously.

The Doctor stood, letting the rag fall from his hand uncaringly to splat on the clean floor. He
stared the guards evenly in the eyes but said nothing. He had learned rather quickly that they
didn't much like the sound of his voice. The guard surveyed the Time Lord's work and
nodded his head when he found the cleaning acceptable. "Against the wall." He commanded
as he motioned for the other guard to grab something from the hall. The Doctor didn't
respond. He didn't want to. He knew what was coming. Routine.

The guard stepped forward and grabbed the Doctor, spinning him around so his chest was
pinned against the wall, back exposed. The harsh smell of pure alcohol struck the Doctor's
nose and he immediately started to squirm. "No, gentlemen, really, I'm fine. I'm f –AGH!" He
shouted as a cloth drenched in alcohol was brushed none-too-gently over the wounds on his
back. The chemical stung and seared as it made contact with his open skin and could almost
be considered it's own kind of torture, but the Doctor knew it was necessary to keep the
wounds from becoming infected. But it still hurt and the Doctor still hated it. The guards,
however, seemed to relish in making the slave writhe and squirm.

They released him once the job was done and shoved his shirt into his arms. "Get dressed."
The Doctor was more than happy to obey, not enjoying the way their eyes watched his bare
skin hungrily. The Eyal facility had a relatively strong policy against the guards and
employees forcing themselves on the slaves for sale, not wanting to damage the property –
that's ironic, the Doctor had thought as his body seared with pain. But the principle more
closely followed by the guards was more along the lines of "what management doesn't
know…won't hurt me."
It hadn't happened to the Doctor as of that moment, but Lalay had more or less informed him
about the privately amended policy through her eyes. As had a lot of the other slaves in the
facility. They had all seen, all experienced, far too much. The Doctor felt sick and terrified
and guilty all at once.

And still, after six days, he had still not seen Rose.

That night at dinner – occasionally when the guards were happy they would allow the slaves
to have a second meal – The Doctor found Lalay again. He had only just finished his
'training', his back still burning from the alcohol, and his stomach roared for something to eat.
Even the usual watery potato soup looked like Christmas dinner to the starving Time Lord.

"Hello again, Lalay!" He greeted her as he collapsed onto their usual bench. After their first
conversation the Aonian had started to warm up to him. She would hold small conversations
with him during meals, smile at him back in the cages, and rattle the meshing between them
in the mornings to wake him up and warn him to move into the corner to avoid the 'good-
morning shock's.

Lalay rolled her eyes at the name but had given up trying to convince him to call her 212.
"Still not giving in?" It was more of a statement than a question.

The Doctor sniffed proudly before taking a sip of soup. "Give up? Me. Nah! Never give up,
never surrender, that's my motto. Well, actually, I may have borrowed that one, but who's
keeping score?" His response, however, was slightly less enthusiastic than usual, and Lalay
noticed.

"You know, there is no weakness in obedience, 305." She told him in her surprisingly
calming voice. "Stubbornness is simply a sign of lack of moral flexibility and strength."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "You believe strength is to cower at your master's feet?"

"No, but I believe strength is to do what is best for you. How far has your stubbornness gotten
you since you arrived?"

The Doctor's eyes fell to his small bowl of soup. She was right, in a way. His inflexible
refusal to submit had done nothing for him except bring him a few more sleepless nights of
blood and pain. He shook his head quickly as if trying to shake of the very idea and dove
back into his soup.

A few bites later he looked up. Lalay was still there, carefully chewing her own dinner as if it
were a sacred treasure. "So I have a question for you." The Doctor finally said. Lalay looked
up and quirked an eyebrow as her signal to go on. "You've been here for a while, right?" She
immediately looked back down, her cheeks becoming even redder than before, and he rolled
his eyes. Dumb question, Doctor. "I was just wondering if you've seen a girl here. Probably
around your age. Skin pinkish-white, kind of like mine, and yellow hair. Would have arrived
here about two weeks ago…?"

"Around the same time as you?"

The Doctor swallowed. "Yes. We were…acquired together."

Lalay continued to look down, expressionless. "Was she your mate?"

"Is." The Doctor corrected her past tense. "And no! Well, yes, kind of, not really. It's a long
story. But anyway, have you seen her?"

Lalay shook her head sadly. "No, I'm sorry, 305." The Doctor hung his head with a sigh. It
had been a long-shot anyway. This place was probably huge, he had no idea how many
cellblocks and levels there could be. She could be anywhere. She could be….she could be…
"But it's only been two weeks, so most likely she wouldn't be for sale or sold yet." The
Doctor glanced up quickly, staring at her as if she'd just read his mind. She shrugged at his
shocked expression. "Usually new stock that are brought in on the same ship stay together,
for categorizing purposes, but often when there's a mated pair they like to separate them, it
makes them more weak and compliant. If you're good and obedient," She put extra emphasis
on the word, "Maybe they will reward you with her."

The Doctor continued to stare at her in disbelief. "They would do that?"

Lalay nodded slowly. "You may not have noticed it yet because you're being so mulish, but
they work on a reward system here. If you know how to work it like I tried suggesting to you
before, this place can actually be somewhat bearable." As if to emphasize her point, Lalay
reach into the waistband of her pants and pulled out, to the Doctor's utter amazement, a small
but fresh and fluffy looking bread roll. The Doctor immediately felt a pang of astonishment
and jealousy. He hadn't seen anything that could nearly be described as 'fresh' since he and
Rose had been eating at that restaurant on Koyer 5 right before visiting the Drephesh just
over three weeks earlier.

Lalay winked before quickly slipping the bread back into its hiding place, glancing around to
make sure none of the guards had seen. She poured the rest of her soup down her throat and
stood, leaving the Doctor stunned and questioning without another word.

The Doctor's hearts hammered faster than was probably healthy as the guards dragged him
down the now all too familiar hallway back to the torture room. He was nervous and scared,
admittedly, and was in the middle of a horrendous battle with himself that caused him to be
even more distracted during the walk, earning him a few swift kicks and jabs to bring him
back to attention.

He'd had the whole night to think about what Lalay had told him. And for once he could
actually tolerate staying awake for more than a few minutes thanks to his 'full' stomach and
the pleasant warm glow of finally formulating a plan. He didn't like it, not one bit, and almost
everything that made him him was screaming at him to stop being so ridiculous. But he'd
made up his mind. This is what he had to do.

The guards threw him into the room as carelessly as if he were a stuffed animal and slammed
the door shut behind them. The Doctor waited for his keeper to arrive, shuffling nervously on
his feet and pacing a few steps in each direction before quickly hurrying back to stand in the
middle of the room. He felt frantic. He just wanted to run, but there was no where to go.
He heard the footsteps long before they reached the door, thanks to his excellent Time Lord
senses. He stopped his pacing and fidgeting and prepared himself, taking a deep breath to
relax his shoulders as he took up a spot in the middle of the room. He forced himself to stand
with his shoulders slightly hunched, head angled downwards, stance for once unthreatening
or challenging, as the door was unlatched a thrown open. The Doctor flinched at the loud
sound, only half pretending.

Bachir stood in the doorway, the usual slave behind him. The Doctor felt horrible about still
not knowing his name (or number, actually). But now was not the time for that. The Doctor
quickly looked down at Bachir's feet and compelled his knees to bend, allowing them to crash
to the ground as he knelt in the middle of the room. His shoulders were rounded. His eyes on
the ground. His hands resting uselessly at his sides. He was the image of submission and
defeat.

He could almost sense Bachir's surprise as the keeper entered the room. He stepped forward
until he towered over his charge, who kept his gaze pointedly on the floor a few inches away
from his feet. He saw the slave shudder at the close proximity.

"P-please," The Doctor swallowed heavily and forced it out, "Sir. I-I c-c-can't. N-not anym-
m-more. Please." He wanted to vomit as he said the words, giving into this man who had
been torturing him for the last week, but he forced his words to be said in whispers and
quickly quieted whatever rebellious voice shouted out from within his mind. He knew this
was what he needed to do, for Rose, for himself. And if the Doctor was going to be honest he
was more than a little relieved to hopefully end the punishment. "I kn-know I deserve th-this,
I unders-s-stand. P-please."

His keeper was silent for a while, causing the Doctor to shiver with anticipation. Then the
man knelt down in front of him and put a finger beneath the Doctor's chin, lifting his face in
an almost gentle manner. The Doctor was forced to look up and he quickly stifled any flicker
of defiance that might be held in his eyes. He dug down and pulled forth all the fear and
sorrow he could muster, reaching as far back as the Time War to make his eyes shaky and
watery with worry. Even then he made sure not to look his keeper in the eye.

"Look at me, 305." Bachir commanded and the Doctor instantly obeyed, flicking his eyes up
to meet the keeper's. "I'm very proud of you, 305." The keeper continued. "You are learning
your place. Good boy." He patted the side of the Doctor's head like one would a dog and the
Doctor tried hard not to recoil too much. Bachir's hand disappeared from under his chin as
the man rose and the Doctor let his eyes fall to the floor once again. He didn't make a move
to stand up as well. He kneeled on the ground in submission at his keeper's feet, just like he'd
been promised from the start.

"However," Bachir's voice was harsh again, causing the Doctor to force a flinch. "You must
learn not to expect to get what you ask for every time. After today's session you will enter
proper training. You will be given a proper medical check-up, nutrients, and exercise, and in
return you will obey my every command. Is that understood, 305?"

"Yes, sir." The Doctor whispered as he realized what the keeper meant. The torture would
stop. His wounds would be addressed properly and he would be allowed to rest and recover.
But the word 'after' hung like a devil in the air. After today's session.
The keeper accepted the leather whip from the other slave, who quickly withdrew back into
the furthest corner in the room, and returned his attention to the Doctor. This time the Doctor
didn't fake the shaking, didn't have to act like he was scared. His eyes followed the braided
tail of the lash with a look of absolute desolation. "I want you to know," Bachir stated, "That I
am truly proud of you, and you will get your reward."

If his reward was the sharp slap of the whip that sliced through his skin once again, eliciting a
pained and shocked shout as he fell backwards against the floor, the Doctor thought it had
come far too soon.
 Chapter 19

The floor was once again sticky with the Doctor's blood. But he clearly didn't care as he
curled up against it, wishing he could simply vanish through the floor and escape the latest
dose of pain. He didn't understand. He had given in, he had submitted, he had done exactly
what the keeper had wanted. So why was he still being punished? Why was Bachir's boot still
slamming into his side with enough force to send his skinny frame across the room? His ribs
were strong, much stronger that a human's or a Drephesh's, but one more blow like that and
the Doctor knew the bones would simply give in as well. He was already having enough
trouble breathing as it was.

It made no sense. It isn't fair! The Doctor forced down a cry as he was struck again in the
same spot. There was a small crack as one of the bones split but didn't completely break. The
pain was intense though. He gasped loudly, coughing, the violent hacking movement causing
his injured side to sear even more. He curled around himself even tighter. It's just not fair!
Why can't I ever do anything right?!

The next blow never came, and for that he let out a grateful sob. Were they done? "Come on."
His keeper said almost gently as he lifted the Doctor off the ground by his forearm. The
Doctor yelped as the movement jolted his injured ribs. He was shaking all over; he'd simply
lost too much blood over the last few days, even with his micro-comas for healing. He was
covered in blood once again as the red-orange stuff became saturated in the fabric of his track
pants. He wanted to move away from his keeper's touch but knew he could hardly stand on
his own.

The other slave came dashing forward with the bucket and rag and the Doctor moved
automatically to take them from him. But his keeper batted his hand away, causing the Doctor
to recoil slightly. Bachir snapped his fingers at the other slave and pointed towards the
Doctor's mess. The slave immediately dropped and began to scrub. The Doctor instantly felt
guilty that the man was forced to do this demeaning job, but he didn't have much time to
ponder it as Bachir jerked his arm, extracting a pained yelp. "Follow me, 305."

"Yes, sir." The Doctor forced passed the lump in his throat. It was going to take a while to get
used to swallowing his pride and feigning obedience, especially with this incarnation's
cheeky, stubborn attitude. But it was necessary. He limped after the keeper as he marched out
the door, one arm wrapped around his aching ribs, casting an apologetic look at the slave now
elbow deep in cleaning up his blood.

It was as if the adrenaline from his defiance had been all that was holding the Doctor
together, as if it had somehow worked to numb the elongated pain of the torture sessions. But
now that he had given in, it all seemed to be rushing in on him. He felt every tear in his skin,
every bite of the whip, every bruise from a boot or fist. For the first time he realized how
weak his legs felt, like jelly coming out of the microwave, holding its frame but ready to melt
away at any moment. He felt like a new-born buck trying to find his feet at the end of his
spindly legs. And each step he took sent stabs of pain through his chest. He hated feeling so
weak.
He almost made it to the door before one misstep sent a wave of stress through his ribs. He
crashed down to one knee, cradling his injured chest, and let escape a single groan of
discomfort. He screwed his eye shut and willed his regenerative energy to mend the bone as
soon as possible, but before it could a pair of boots entered his line of vision. "Guards!" The
wearer of those boots called. The Doctor flinched. Why was he calling in the guards? Were
they coming in to help inflict more tortures on him? Did his single trip and fall merit a
punishment so soon?

He looked up as if to try and find the answers to those questions in Bachir's eyes, but as soon
as their eyes meet the keeper slapped him across the face and forced his head back down.
"You will never make direct eye contact unless openly instructed to." Bachir commanded as
he continued to push the Doctor's head down until his chin practically touched his collarbone.
"You are not worth enough to be able to look into your owner's eyes, only at the dirt on their
shoes. Do you understand, 305?"

The Doctor nodded as best he could with Bachir's hand still pressed against his skull. He
heard the footsteps of the guards coming in to stand behind the keeper and resisted the urge to
visibly recoil. "Help it to the shower room, wash it, get it some new clothes, and then get it
checked over by Vadim before bringing it to me for categorization. Do nothing else."

The guards acknowledged their instructions and grabbed their charge under the arms. Before
they lifted him up Bachir ran a hand through the Doctor's hair, ruffling it and scratching him
behind the ear like one might praise a dog. The Doctor jerked his head away from the
demeaning touch but didn't say anything about it. He needed them to believe he was
completely docile now.

The guards yanked him up and he yelped as the movement ricocheted through his ribs. The
Doctor got his feet beneath him as they led him out the door, but instead of turning left like
they always did to go back to the cages, they turned right down a new corridor. The Doctor's
curiosity piqued. What wonders awaited him down here? Well, probably the shower room,
considering what Bachir had instructed to the guards, and the Doctor was not about to argue
with that command. He was filthy and could probably be smelled throughout the entire
complex. He hadn't had a proper shower or bath since before getting caught at the outpost
three weeks earlier and he was now covered in grime and dried sweat and blood.

They brought him into a room that was no doubt used for showering; the floor was made of
tile that slanted downwards to a drain at the center of the room and there were six detachable
shower heads placed along the walls with long coils of flexible piping so as to allow the
nozzle to be pulled and moved into the desired place. The place was empty. The guards
marched to one of the showering stations and practically shoved him into the wall. "Strip."
They commanded.

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. "Ay chance for a bit of privacy?" He asked without really
expecting any. And from the way the guards just glared at him the Doctor knew the answer.
Grumbling, he turned his back to them and carefully peeled off his destroyed shirt. Bits of
skin and dried blood stuck to it and tore off his back as he grimaced. Then, with a sigh of
resignation as he was all too aware of the guards still lingering, staring, behind him, he
shimmied off the track pants as well.
When he was done he reached up for the nozzle, ready to wash away all the grime covering
his body. But then one of the guards grabbed him by the upper arm and dragged him
backwards. The Doctor shouted out as the back of his knee was kicked in and he crashed,
once again, to his knees. The other guard grabbed the nozzle off the wall, flicking on the
water before turning it on the Doctor, who yelled in surprise. The water was freezing cold,
and the pressure pounded against the raw skin on his back. He got a lungful of water as the
guard carelessly sprayed him down and began to cough violently.

The water was turned off and the second guard grabbed a bar of gritty soap and began
massaging it roughly into the Doctor's matted hair. His fingernails scrapped uncomfortably
over the Doctor's scalp. Then the other guard approached with another bar of soap and, to the
Doctor's extreme dislike, began to cruelly scrub away at the blood coating his back, irritating
the cuts and subsequently making them bleed even more.

"Seriously, guys, I think I can manage on my own, thanks." He gasped out as another slash on
his back opened up. His statement earned him a quick slap before the guards both stepped
away and took up the shower nozzle once again. This time the Doctor was able to brace
himself for the spray. He sighed with relief as he realized the water had warmed up. Now it
was pleasantly luke-warm – not quite as pleasant as it would have been to get a hot shower
for once, but light-years better than the freezing cold onslaught of earlier.

He felt the dirt and sweat and blood washing down his body along with the suds,
disappearing through the drain. He wished he could stay under the current for hours, but
unfortunately the water switched off as soon as the job was done. He was pulled to his feet
and a towel was thrown into his arms. The Doctor quickly dried himself off and wrapped the
towel around his waist, not liking the look on the guards' faces one bit. He glanced down at
his old shirt and pants, shredded, bloody, and now soaking wet. "Uh…you don't happen to
have any change of clothes, do you?" He asked, desperate to get something on besides the
thin towel.

One of the guards rolled his eyes and stormed off, hopefully in search of something for the
'slave' to wear. The other guard remained, leering at the Doctor as the Time Lord tried to
ignore the look.

"Shame your keeper's pleased with you today." The guard suddenly spoke up. "Shame he
wants to ruin our fun." He took a step closer and the Doctor simultaneously took one away.
Like they were dancing. The guard's eyes raked over him hungrily. "Because we would
definitely have some fun with a pretty little thing like you."

The Doctor swallowed heavily as he stared warningly into the guard's eyes. "Yeah…a 'shame'
is definitely the word I'd use for it too."

The guard struck him hard across the face. "What did you're keeper just tell you about
making eye contact?"

The Doctor, holding his now reddened cheek, glared up at the guard and very pointedly made
eye contact once again before spiting, "He told me not to make eye contact with those who
arebetter than me. But I'm not entirely sure that situation applies right n – UF!" He reeled
backwards as the guard's fist slammed into his stomach.
The other guard reentered the room at that time, carrying in his arms another pair of identical
gray track-pants and a shirt. He cast a warning look at his co-worker, who still had his fist
drawn back, before shoving the new clothes into the arms of the winded Doctor. He
gratefully took them and pulled them on as quickly as he could with his now aching stomach
and searing ribs. Once he was done they dragged him back out of the room and down another
hallway. His wet feet slipped on the tiles but he managed to walk on his own.

They brought him to another door, opened it up, threw him inside, and slammed the door shut
behind him before marching away. The Doctor picked himself up from the stumble, still
holding his side. The room he'd been brought to now was much more interesting than the last
two. The floor in here was actually carpet, which felt amazingly soft to his bare feet, and
there were various alien plants potted decoratively in the corners of the room. There were two
small couches and a large desk strewn with papers and files, and in one corner the carpet
gave way to tile and there was a medical examining table centered beside a row of white
cabinets and a sink.

The Doctor limped over to the desk, glancing quickly over the papers which all turned out to
be medical reports and examinations. He found a single picture on the desk, half buried
beneath the papers, of a Drephesh man and a young girl he could only assume was his
daughter by the similar orange tint in her eyes. The Doctor immediately recognized the man
in the picture as the doctor who had treated him after his allergic reaction. Vadim, he thought
he remembered the man being called.

The door behind him suddenly opened again and the Doctor quickly set the picture down
before spinning around, hearts pumping fast. The man in the picture had just entered the
room and was casting his orange eyes over the Doctor. "Please don't touch the items on the
desk, 305." Vadim said calmly. The Doctor instantly bowed his head and stepped away from
the desk. This doctor would probably be in close contact with Bachir throughout his training,
and therefore it was essential that he also believe the Doctor to be broken.

Vadim read over a chart in his hand as he wandered slowly over to the examination area. The
Doctor stayed where he was, watching him without staring at him, wondering what he was
going to do. Vadim placed the chart down on the cabinet counter and patted the examination
table. "Come on over, let's see how you're doing."

The Doctor, surprised by how casual and friendly the medic sounded, quickly made his way
over. At Vadim's request he shifted up onto the table, wincing. Vadim seemed to notice and
squinted at him suspiciously. "Off with the shirt, if you don't mind, 305." He instructed. The
Doctor thought it'd have been much more convenient if he'd just left the shirt off the begin
with, but he managed to pull it over his head once again with minimal effort. Vadim made an
annoyed noise through his nose.

"I thought," He said as he made his way behind the Doctor, examining the numerous gashes
and cuts on his back as well as the already forming bruise around his ribs, "I'd told Bachir to
take it easy on you after your recovery."

"Yeah, well, I don't think he was listening." The Doctor said before he could stop himself.
Vadim simply laughed.
"No, it appears he wasn't. Stay here." Vadim moved to one of the drawers on the wall and
pulled out something the Doctor couldn't see. He came back to the table, standing behind the
Doctor. "This may hurt at first." He warned and the Doctor immediately tensed as Vadim's
hand pressed against the torn skin on his back. But the Doctor's hiss of pain quickly turned to
a sigh of relief as a satisfying cooling sensation ran through his wounds. The pain was
immediately eased. The Doctor caught a whiff of whatever Vadim had put on his back; a
mixture of peppermint and lortan, a flower found on the planet Pervigeo.

"Oblen oil?" The Doctor's voice gave away his surprise as he recognized the medication.

"Yes. Have you encountered it before?"

"Use it all the time. But that's a Pervigian remedy, only known on that planet, how can you
have it so readily available?"

"Well," Vadim sounded thoughtful as he continued to rub the ointment into the Doctor's skin,
which was already starting to heal over due to the remarkable characteristics of the lortan's
pulverized petals. "You certainly know your medication facts. Did you used to study
medicine?"

The Doctor snorted softly. "I thought my free past no longer mattered?" He tried to keep the
angry sneer out of his voice.

"It does if it can help you be categorized. The more we know about you, 305, the better we
can find you a proper owner who will be pleased with your work."

The Doctor sighed, sagging his shoulders. "I don't want an owner." He muttered, feeling
himself relaxing too much in the medic's affable company. He half expected to be struck for
the statement, punished for sounding disobedient against the life they were 'so graciously
giving him'.

But instead Vadim chose not to respond. They sat in silence for a moment, the medic
finishing up with the last cut on his back and now moving to one that had formed beneath the
Doctor's hairline. "So…did you study medicine before?" Vadim asked again. The Doctor took
a moment to figure out how to respond. The answer was yes and the answer was no, and he
didn't know which one would help him out more. So he opted not to say anything, to which
Vadim added. "She calls you a doctor, you know."

The Doctor jumped, spinning around. "Rose?"

"Don't move, 305." Vadim snapped, but the Doctor wasn't listening.

"You've spoken to her. Where is she? Is she alright?"

"305, be silent and turn back around so I can finish helping you." He no longer sounded so
casual, but more demanding, and the Doctor quickly turned back around, hoping that if he
obeyed he might get some information out of the medic.
After a pause, Vadim spoke up again. "Yes, I have seen your mate. She is fine, she's going
through training now and seems to be excelling. At this rate she will most likely earn a high
recommendation score and be sold to a quality buyer."

The Doctor growled at this, feeling his suppressed rage coming back to the surface. "You
are not selling her like some livestock to the highest bidder! She's a sentient being – we all
are – and we don't deserve this kind of treatment."

Vadim simply laughed as he screwed the top back onto the jar of Oblen oil. "I'd be careful of
that mouth of yours, 305, or you're going to get yourself into even more trouble than you've
been in, and quite honestly I'd rather not see you on my table every day. I have other patients
to tend to." The Doctor was silent at this, trying once again to put a lid on his anger at the
whole situation. They were going to be sold like cattle at an auction and so far there was
nothing he could do about it. He couldn't even comfort the woman he l – there had to be a
way out of this place that wasn't as the property of some wealthy sadist and he would find it.
But first he needed to find Rose.

"Now," Vadim continued, putting on a doctor-ly voice. "Unfortunately the Oblen oil cannot
mend things beneath the skin's surface, so I'm going to have to wrap that rib of yours. It could
take a while for the bone to completely heal and may continue to cause you pain for another
few days, so try your best not to exert yourself. I'll tell your keeper the same, but who knows
if the stubborn fool will listen or not. But based on the remarkable healing I saw from you
last week, we can probably assume you'll be feeling much better long before my suggested
recovery time. Which brings me to my next question: What are you?"

The Doctor tensed. Vadim must have noticed for he paused in his wrapping to stare at the
Doctor, who quickly looked down and hoped the movement would be seen as respectfully
avoiding eye contact instead of guiltily avoiding eye contact. He thought quickly, what was
the lie he'd used back at the outpost? "Human." He said finally, hoping the gap between the
question and answer hadn't been long enough to merit suspicious.

"Oh, yes, of course." Vadim replied sarcastically as he continued the spin the gauze wrap
around the Doctor's chest. "Despite the accelerated healing, two hearts, and vast knowledge
of extraterrestrial life and culture which are all uncharacteristic or our knowledge of the
earth-dwellers, I'm sure you're speaking the truth."

Thinking quickly, the Doctor responded. "Well, strictly speaking I'm a mutated human, but
still technically human."

Vadim raised his eyebrows and laughed. "A mutated human?" He repeated disbelievingly.

"Yes, radioactive spider bite, nasty little buggers. Gave me accelerated regenerative ability,
which made me develop a second vascular system to manage the extra energy and advanced
cognitive capability…most spiders on earth have that…" He added quickly at the end. Vadim
continued to laugh at him in the way one might to a child announcing they had learned how
to fly.

"No matter, 305," He said as he finished binding his chest and secured it with a line of strong
medical tape. "We exported your DNA information to Galactic Command and they should be
sending the results back shortly. Soon enough we'll know what you're trying to hide from us."

He patted the Doctor gently on the shoulder in a non-threatening way, but the Doctor's hearts
were beating double-time. They couldn't identify him. They just couldn't. There was no
telling what they would do if they discovered the one man who had nearly destroyed all of
Eyal not so many years ago was already completely at their mercy. And if they uncovered
him…if they took out their revenge on him like they undoubtedly would…then there would
be no help for Rose either. She would be stuck here in this horrible place, or else sold to some
planetary baron for their sick morality. He couldn't allow that to happen. He couldn't allow
them to identify his race.

Vadim called the guards back in, who dragged the Doctor off the table, mindless of his bound
torso, and led him from the office back to his keeper. Back to training.
 Chapter 20

His eyes scanned the paperwork one more time before releasing a worried groan. Ren placed
the pages on his desk, keeping them separate from the rest of the mess of files, and rubbed
the exhaustion from his eyes. One of his contacts slide out of position so it looked as if he
had two iris', one orange and one light blue. With a practiced hand, Ren moved the contact
back into place. His world once again became tinted orange from the coloring, making
everything look like it had been filmed in sepia. He had spent ten years in this world of
unnatural orange; so long that he'd almost forgotten what it was like to see unhindered. To see
the green grass as what it was, to see the blue sky as something other than dirtied greenish-
brown, just like the way he remembered it all back on Earth. In some way Ren supposed it
was fitting, his memory of his home planet remaining untainted while this place dulled his
vision daily.

Ren ruffled his hair. This was not good. The report had been far from favorable, and the crew
was not going to be happy. No, not even that. They were going to be furious. And not even
the generous bonus they all received from turning in the Doctor and Rose would hold them in
his good favors. They were falling behind, their costs far outweighing their production. The
mines were becoming bare. The slaves they had acquired were dying off like may-flies in
December. They couldn't keep working their remaining slaves in this manner, or else they'd
be left with no one.

But the men simply didn't understand that. The slaves were beasts of burden in their eyes,
nothing more than animals to force to do their bidding and dispose of when they were no
longer useful. They didn't understand that thesepeople had the same limits as themselves and
could only be driven to work so hard.

Eyal, however, was even less likely to understand. They kept sending him notifications,
warning him that if his outpost didn't start producing more, they would either be shut do or
have management replaced, even after their latest contribution to Eyal's most profitable trade.
And no one was just 'fired' from Eyal. No one can just 'leave'. And Ren couldn't risk being
seen as a failure in their eyes when so much rode on staying in their good graces.

Ren sighed and poured himself a glass of the same auburn liquid he'd once offered Rose what
felt like so long ago. For that infinitesimal amount of time he had been with another human
again. He had spoken to another human, spoken English, something that had so terrifyingly
become scratchy and slow to him after years and years of speaking the rough tongue of
Drephesh. He needed to get out of there. He didn't know how much longer he could take.
Rose reminded him so much of why he wanted to go back home, and he hadn't realized
exactly how desperate he was for that scent of pine trees and freshly mowed grass he'd taken
such advantage of in his youth. He needed to get back.

But there was nothing he could do about that now. Maybe some day he could hatch another
plan, but the closest he had ever gotten was when that Doctor fellow had been here. He had
been so close he could almost smell the spray rolling off the Pacific Ocean where he had once
made his home. The Doctor said he could take him back, but now the alien was in Eyal,
about to be sold off. Ren laughed as a bizarre thought crossed his mind, but a moment later
his desperation ruled it as actually being somewhat sane. He had a lot of money stored up,
having earned more than the average man at the outpost due to his position, and, unlike most
of the other men, did not see the point in spending it on useless trinkets and entertainment.
Yes, he had a fair amount of money, but enough to buy a personal slave?

He shook his head and turned back to the report. He scanned it one more time before standing
resolutely and marching towards the door. He called for a staff meeting, and thirty minutes
later the entirety of the outpost staff were crammed into the dining hall. It was nearing
dinnertime anyway, so no one was truly troubled by their captain calling them in. Perhaps
they would even get dinner served earlier than usual and be excused from returning to work.
Ren swallowed heavily as he heard a couple different groups of men suggest that same theory
to each other. They most definitely were not going to like his announcement.

"Alright," He called loudly over the controlled roar of the dining hall. The men immediately
quieted down, curious about why their captain had called then in. "Evening, men. I'll make
this short and sweet so you can get to eating." There was a rumble of approval at his words.
"I received a report today from Eyal informing me that we are falling behind in production in
our region. We simply don't have enough hands in our mines to produce the amount of
minerals we need for our quota. So," Ren swallowed as he hesitated with his words. "Starting
tomorrow, I'll be organizing shifts among you all to help out –" There was an immediate
uproar. Ren raised his voice to call over the din. "In the mines for short shifts until we either
get back on track or acquire more slave-hands."

"This is ridiculous!" One man called out above the rest.

"That's slave work!" Came another indignant voice.

Ren scowled, twisting his features into an authoritative, intimidating glare. "If we don't
improve production, Eyal will shut us down, and you all know what that means. This is the
best option I could devise in such a short amount of time, and it is only temporary. If any of
you have a better idea, I would love to hear it."

"Make them work harder!" The first man shouted out again, referring to the native Drephesh
slaves they kept in the mines. "That have those lazy animals been doing all day?"

"Those 'lazy animals' have been worked to death, and that's why we're in this problem to
begin with." Ren countered. "The answer is not longer hours, it's more hands. So this is that
we are going until such a time we have enough replacement slaves. This is your captain's
decision, and unfortunately for you we do not work in a democracy. The shift will be posted
later tonight. First set, be ready to head out after breakfast tomorrow. That is all."

Ren jumped down from the table he'd been standing on and began to march his way out of
the commotion. Men were shouting to each other about the injustice of their orders. Ren tried
to keep the disgusted sneer from his face. These people had no trouble working slaves to
death, but upon being asked to dedicate an hour or two to shoveling rocks because it is their
job, they begin a riot. He swept quickly from the room so as to avoid the confrontational
shouts of his staff and, in doing so, did not notice the one member not on his feet and
complaining with the rest.
The rat faced man's beady eyes glared at the back of Ren's retreating form. He sat backwards
on one of the dinning hall benches, elbows resting on his spread knees. One of the men
closest to him seemed to notice his quiet behavior and quickly plopped down next to him,
eyeing him curiously. "Whatchu thinking?" He questioned as he flicked his head in the
direction their captain had just disappeared in.

Rat-Face didn't turn to look at him as he replied. He wrung his fingers together as he though,
slow, calculating twists of his hands. "I'm thinking," He finally said in a slow, measured voice
that almost got lost in the roar of the crowd. "That this is the last piece of proof I need to
support my theory."

"And what's that?" Another man jumped down to join their quiet conversation. Rat-Face
glanced at him for a second, his dark eyes alight with a determined plan.

"Don't you see it? Elongating our hours, cutting down on our fair share of the profit from
those two slaves, sending us to work in the mines like some common pack animals while he
sits all comfy in his office?" He pinned them both with a purposeful glare. "He's trying to
turn us into them, make us his own platoon of personal slaves."

One of the men was shaking his head. "Naw, the captain might be making some pretty
atrocious decisions, but he wouldn't turn his own fellow Drephesh into slaves for his own
benefit."

"Why not?" Rat-Face asked. "After all, that's what we did, only to the natives. And you can't
tell me you think the captain actually acts like a real Drephesh." He stood up suddenly and
the now five or so men listening to him seemed to jump back with surprise. "I don't know
what he is or what he's doing, and it doesn't entirely matter. All that does matter is we
need Captain Ren out of here for the good of the company…and we should do our part as
respectable employees to help make him disappear."

Bachir narrated notes and comments to his slave as he observed 305 sprinting full speed
against the moving runway. Numerous wires had been attached to it, reading its heart rate and
respiration, speed and stamina, on the various machines. It had been running for a long time,
far longer than Bachir had expected it to. He had given 305 the rest of the day off after it's
visit with Vadim as it's reward and the slave was already beginning to look well again. It still
clutched at it's side occasionally, making it's running awkward and inconstant, but the slight
limp he had noticed from before was gone and most of the cuts and bruises were healed
beyond the usual abilities of Vadim's stolen magic cream. Bachir made a mental note to
include it's intriguing healing ability in it's sales chart. No doubt someone would pay well in
the future for a slave they could punish if needed and still put back to work the next day
without worrying about it being inhibited by its injuries. Every little penny, he mused as he
smiled at the thought of the fat commission check he could receive from this one. Attractive,
clever, surprisingly strong, quick rehabilitator, Bachir checked it's traits off with a little 'ch-
ching' sound in his head.

His trainee did appear to be an excellent specimen. Bachir was still not completely convinced
it was broken – occasionally he would notice a slight smirk on it's face, would see it make
blatant eye contact with other guards when it thought he wasn't looking, and it's overall
posture and demeanor seemed in contradiction to the cowering, pleading, broken form it had
taken on previously. But that hardly mattered, it was not necessary for it to be completely
broken, just submissive enough. There were buyers out there who preferred to break them
themselves, anyway. And it's other attributes made it a worthy subject.

The day before they had done some simply categorization tests. He had asked it about it's
previous training and servitude, to which it steely replied that it had none, and then they went
on to press it about it's skills. Cooking? House work? Animal care? Military (to which it's
brown eyes widened and it quickly ducked it's head and whispered 'yes')? Building? Manual
labor? Sexual labor? Education?

The last one had had the most intriguing answer. The creature was clearly very well educated
and versed in many different areas of practice. Whatever it had been before, it was not a
simpleton and had not come from inane origins such as many of the other slaves captured and
sent here. Bachir could tell from the small devilish glint in its brown eyes that there was
knowledge in there that had hardly yet seen a parallel. Perhaps the Academy would be
interested in its mind, to see how it works, pull secrets and inventions out of it such as they
had done with the oil. Who knows how this thing could better the Drephesh cause?

Since then they had moved on to physical training. Weights, cardio, health analysis. It had
amazingly sharp reflexes, reacting so quickly and fluidly to some situations it led Bachir to
wonder if it had enhanced senses as well. He had heard of creatures who can predict events
before they happen, spot a bee from a hundred yards away, even a legend of two about beings
who could slow down time with a mere thought. He found these accounts to be absolute
rubbish, a child's fantasy story about superpowers, but 305 made him stop and think. Could
something like this, as remarkable as it could be, cause a serious problem in it's sale?

The main problem, however, had come with the emotional analysis. Bachir had already
known it was stubborn – it had taken six and a half days to semi-break it, anyway – but he
was amazed to discover how much pain and guilt lay beneath it's surface, crippling it for
many duties it might need to perform in the future. Bachir acknowledged that he'd been
wrong; this thing already was broken, just not in the way he had wanted. How could a slave
so destroyed from the inside manage to excel in it's commands? It was distracted, volatile,
compromised.

"I have seen this many times before," Vadim informed the keeper as he waited on stand-by
incase the slave needed medical attention during the rigorous training. One of the moderators
prompted it to continue running faster with a jab of the electric prod. He winced as the
creature's face screwed up in pain, but it continued running, distress and exhaustion evident
in it's features. How long had it been running now? Two hours straight?

"Have you?" Bachir finally replied without taking his eyes off the chart he snatched from his
slave. He scribbled down a few notes about his subject as he attempted to ignore the doctor's
presence.

Vadim checked 305's readings from a separate computer, frowning slightly at the irregularity
of the hearts beats. "Yes…Both first-hand and second-hand, as a matter of fact, although not
quite at the level of this poor creature." He watched Bachir until the keeper finally glanced up
from his notes. He raised an inquisitive eyebrow, urging Vadim to get on with his
observation. A small smile pulled at Vadim's lip as he announced, "It's fighting heart break,
Bachir."

The keeper laughed, a loud, cruel laugh that caused his slave to jump and move away from
fear. His eyes went back to the chart. "I appreciate your help, Vadim, but you're a medical
doctor, not a psychologist."

"Yes, you're correct about that," Vadim laughed lightly. "But I know the symptoms when I see
them. I, too, lost my mate, remember?" Bachir grunted in acknowledgement. "And the only
way I have managed to be a functioning member of this facility and not a heart wretched,
mourning old fool is because I was able to come to terms with what transpired." He could
hear Bachir's teeth grinding in annoyance as he thrust the chart into his slave's chest. Vadim
quickly grabbed the keeper's arm before he could turn away and fixed him with a meaningful
glare. "Closure, Bachir." He said. "The creature needs closure with it and it's mate's fate."

Bachir rolled his orange eyes. "And what is this closure supposed to do to help, doctor?"

"You are having trouble with its training, that much I can tell from the few conversations I
have had with it. It is still acting troublesome, still acting unruly when it believes no one is
looking. It is behaving in this way because it fears for it's mate. The last they saw of each
other was on the transport shuttle where it nearly died, and it woke up with no knowledge of
her well-being. It's scared and still looking for it's mate, fighting for her, and it will continue
this behavior until it sees that there is nothing left to fight over."

"Are you suggesting we kill the female simply to crush his spirit?" Bachir chuckled
disbelievingly. There was no way that would ever become an option. Pure humans were
nearly impossible to come by this far out, particularly pure female humans, and from his
knowledge they were already expecting to bring in a hefty profit from the female's eventual
sale. They would not sacrifice that for an unidentified, untrained, uncategorized slave boy.

Vadim, however, was shaking his head. "It does not take such drastic measures, Bachir. But
then again, your talents have never been with subtlety. And besides –" He glanced back at
305, still sprinting with the obvious signs of exhaustion and dehydration evident in each
stride. "– It has been well behaved enough during the testing, has it not? Perhaps it deserves a
reward for its cooperation. Even a dog needs to be praised every once and a while to keep it
loyal."

The Doctor ran. He ran harder and faster and longer than any time he could ever remember.
What were they trying to do to him? Destroy him? Run him until his legs ended in bloody
stumps where his feet had been worn completely off? Any minute now he was sure his shin
bones would simply snap in half. Or maybe his lungs would stop expanding and taking in
oxygen (he already felt as if there was not as much air in the room as there should be). Or
maybe his hearts would decide to take a breather and stop beating all together.

Was that their plan? Were they already so unsatisfied with his training that they have given up
and decided to dispose of him, force him to run till his body shuts down and make it look like
an unfortunate training accident? Why were they already so dissatisfied? He had been so
good – well, as good as the Doctor was ever going to be – following his keeper's orders,
playing along with their tests and their attempts to categorize him. Why was it already
decided that he was worth less than the effort to keep him, (barely) feed him, and then
package him up and ship him off to some other world of torture and loneliness for a quick
dollar? Was he really so worthless that they couldn't even bother to try to sell him?

"AGH!" The Doctor's body arched with pain and he nearly fell from the treadmill. He glared
hatefully at the man who'd pressed the cattle prod to his side. He hadn't slowed down, he was
sure of it. No matter how exhausted he was, he'd rather run through the pain than be
electrocuted again. The man smiled cruelly and twirled the prod over in his hand.

This hadn't started off so bad at first. In fact, he actually preferred this to the demeaning
questions, physical examinations, and uncomfortable psychological analysis' he'd been
plagued with the last two days. He was running again. He'd always loved the running. And
after weeks of being cramped up in a tiny cage, dragged everywhere by the unhelpful guards,
finally being able to stretch his legs had been a blessing. But half an hour had been plenty for
his liking. Two hours later, he was beginning to regret his earlier joy for it. He was
dehydrated, malnourished, injured, and Bachir knew all that. He had caused all that. So why
was he still making him go?

He couldn't stop though; if he did he would be shocked, he would be punished. It wasn't as

though he feared the punishment – he'd certainly had worse before – but it was just easier to
keep running, and the shocks were an unnecessarily painful nuisance. There was no harm in
running, no real reason to resist. In some small corner of his mind, a voice yelled at him,
appalled at the thought of giving these slavers what they wanted. It screamed at him to fight
back, to protest, to do anything and everything in his power to keep them from seeing him
broken.

But he was getting tired…so, so tired. And he still didn't have Rose…

He was drenched in sweat and his vision was beginning to blur. All he could see was the
boring white wall in front of him as his vision tunneled. His breaths had turned into gasps, his
lungs burning in his chest, his hearts beat valiantly, but they were all unable to keep up. His
exhaustion was catching up to him. He felt himself slow down by a fraction of a mile per
hour. Just a fraction. But that was enough to make the machine beep, telling the moderators
that the speed had dipped below the allowed pace. The Doctor's hearts seized in terrified
anticipation. No. He tried to speed back up, but it was too late. The machine had tattled on
him. He saw the prod being raised out of the corner of his eye and reacted out of instinct.

He jumped to the side, out of the way of the biting metal prongs, and collided with the side
railing. His ankle twisted violently as he set it down wrong, catching on the speeding
revolving surface of the treadmill, and he stumbled. The treadmill swept his feet out from
under him and he went down gracelessly. The metal railing around the machine slammed into
his nose as he fell and warm, sticky blood instantly began to run over his lips and down his
chin. The unfazed moving surface rolled him backwards off the machine, where he was
deposited in a crumbled heap at the end of the line. He gasped at how quickly it all happened
and blood flowed unpleasantly into his gaping, gasping mouth.

"You clumsy animal!" The moderator snarled, advancing quickly on the Doctor's crumpled
form. "Getting your filthy blood all over our expensive equipment! Get up!"
He slammed the prod into the Doctor's side. He cried out as the electricity drove the small
amount of breath from his lungs. He rolled onto his stomach and just barely managed to push
himself to his knees and elbows, wincing for his twisted ankle, preparing to push his sore
body the rest of the way up, when the prod pressed into his side again. He screamed, the
current painfully vibrating the recently healed bones in his ribs. He collapsed back to the
ground where the moderator shocked him again.

"GET UP!"

"I can't." The Doctor panted breathlessly. The moderator glared down at him reproachfully.

"Excuse me?"

"I said…I can't!" The Doctor snarled as best he could but it still came out disjointed and
weak. "Not if…I'm constantly…being p…pushed…back down."

The moderator knelt down and grabbed the front of the Doctor's sweat-soaked shirt, jerking
him up so he was forced to look directly at him. The Doctor averted his eyes automatically as
he'd trained himself to do over the last two days, but the moderator shook him roughly until
he had no choice but to meet his gaze. For some reason the Doctor began to feel anxious.
This was a bad thing. He shouldn't be doing this. But why not?

"You can and you will." The moderator growled into his face. "You'll run until your keeper
tells you otherwise, as you will with everything else he instructs, because things like you are
incapable of thinking for yourselves, so someone must graciously offer to do it for you. Now
get up and keep running, the test isn't over."

The Doctor laughed, a short, wispy laugh that got lost in his desperate gasps for air. His
hearts were still hammering and lungs still aching. But he managed to huff, "I'm p-perfectly
cap…capable of thinking…for myself…thanks. And I t-think…this test is over."

The moderator released his hold on the Doctor's shirt and the Time Lord fell with a thud back
onto his back, groaning as what little air he had managed to regain was driven from his lungs
once again. He didn't get a chance to suck it back in, however, as electricity instantly surge
through him. He jerked and writhed on the floor until he was finally released. His vision had
become so spotted and dark he was sure he was going to pass out at any moment and he
welcomed it. Maybe he would wake up back in his cage where he could relax and sleep and
lick his wounds from another day of training.

But fate would not have it so. Just as the moderator brought the cattle prod down for another
strike, the door to the observation and reading room opened and Bachir and the medic strode
towards them. "Alright, that's enough." Bachir's commanding voice halted the moderator
mid-jab, the teeth of the prod just inches from the Doctor's heaving chest. "You don't have to
torture the poor creature, it's clearly not strong enough."

The Doctor should have been insulted by the statement, but instead he was just relieved. Why
was he so relieved? Because Bachir's safe, some part of the Doctor thought. He knew what
the keeper wanted, it was always made clear to him and they had always been within his
physical ability; he could obey those commands easily without fear.
The moderator backed off, grumbling something about insubordination. Bachir came forward
until he was standing directly over the Doctor and watched his ward down the ridges of his
nose. "On your feet, 305."

He didn't threaten him, kick him, shock him, or even seem to rush him. The Doctor rolled
over and pushed himself to his knees slowly, carefully, one leg and then the other, before
struggling the rest of the way up. He hurt all over and his vision swam dangerously. He
finally managed to get all the way up to his feet when the world suddenly tilted and one of
his knees collapsed out from under him. With faster reflexes than the Doctor thought he'd
have, Bachir grabbed him before he could fall, wrapping one arm around the Doctor's waist
to hold him up. Then he was half-dragged across the room and dropped onto a metal bench
where he fell gratefully back against the wall.

Bachir shoved something into his limp hand. "Drink this." He ordered and the Doctor
complied without thought. There was no time for thought or reasoning. Things like reasons
and questions had started to slip away, his mind moving sluggishly. He nearly cried out with
joy as he realized the liquid he was being forced to drink was water. Cool, sweet, refreshing
water that eased his dry mouth and aching throat. He wanted to chug the entire thing right
then and there, but suddenly it was jerked out of his hand. He whimpered in protest.

"Don't drink so fast or you'll be sick, and then I wouldn't be able to give you your reward."

The Doctor frowned. "My…reward?" Why would he be getting a reward? He'd fallen off the
treadmill, interrupted the test, disobeyed an order, talked back, made eye-contact. Everything
he'd been warned so many times through pain to avoid. Nothing added up to him deserving a
reward.

But this time Bachir ignored him like he was nothing. He was nothing. No, I'm
something! Part of him argued but, like everything else going on in his mind, it was also
ignored. Right now, the Doctor didn't have to think, all he had to do was lean back against the
wall and catch his breath and wonder with a generous amount of worry what this 'reward' of
his might entail.
 Chapter 21

"This is ridiculous, Bachir!"

The Doctor perked up as he heard the unfamiliar voice shouting at his keeper from the
hallway. He was slouched against the wall of a new room they had dragged him to, resting his
head on his knees and attempting to relax before the disturbance had interrupted him. He was
still exhausted from all the running earlier that day, but they had fed him and given him water
and he was already beginning to feel less fatigued. He longed to sleep again and restore his
strength completely, but he was afraid of the consequences of falling asleep during training.
He was sure they wouldn't be enjoyable. And no doubt he would never get this mysterious
reward Bachir had mentioned…

The Doctor was, of course, nervous. Again he questioned why he would be receiving a
reward at all. He was only doing the bare minimum to keep from being punished, and yet
here he was, awaiting his prize. He shuddered slightly as he thought of the numerous
different implications of the word 'reward'; it could be completely sincere or devastatingly
sinister. He'd been too worn out after the treadmill incident to properly evaluate Bachir's
mood and figure out what his own connotation was, but he didn't seem ominous about it. But
the fact still remained that the Doctor knew he didn't deserve a proper reward.

He could hear footsteps coming down the hallway now, moving towards the room he was
being kept in. The room was not unlike the 'training' room he had become accustom to during
his first conscious week here, but there was a definite lack of red stains on the floor, which
helped to settle the Doctor's initial anxiety. As the footsteps grew closer – he counted three
pairs all together – he could hear the unfamiliar voice speak up again.

"I'm in the middle of a dosage trial with 258, you can't just interrupt this process because
you're feeling sentimental."

Bachir's commanding voice answered back and the Doctor resisted the urge to curl up further
against the wall. "Your little girl's training can wait ten minutes. 258 is no where near as
valuable as this one could possibly be. I need it compliant."

"It's human!" The first voice shouted in frustration. "Do you know how rare it is to find a
human of her appeal this far out? And you think it's not valuable?"

The Doctor used the wall behind him to help push himself up. His breath hitched, but not
from the throbbing pain coming from his injured ankle as he set weight on it. The three pairs
of footsteps stopped before his door, two heavy sets and one smaller, lighter, inconsistent one,
as if the owner was stumbling. Even despite that, he knew he recognized those footsteps, like
he'd heard them every day padding down the halls of the TARDIS or racing with him away
from some sort of danger right at his heels. Did he really dare to believe what he was
hearing?

The other man was speaking again, his annoyed voice sounding slightly muffled coming
through the door. "I've already administered the injection, I have to observe its reaction."
"It takes ten minutes for the effects to completely develop, and unless you want me to inform
Vadim that you're exceeding his dosage recommendation, I suggest you shut the hell up and
stop complaining." Bachir snapped back as he suddenly threw the door open. The Doctor
shifted slightly backwards in surprise, his back pressed up against and supported by the wall.
He hardly even had time to register the aggravated scowl on the Drephesh standing behind
his keeper when someone was shoved through the doorway, stumbling backwards as the door
was slammed shut in her face, blonde hair splaying out behind her.

The universe froze. The air had been sucked completely from the room. The Doctor opened
his mouth to speak, but for once no words came out. He was too stunned. His mind whirled
as she stood there, still facing the door, her back to him, unmoving. The Doctor found he
couldn't move either, for some reason, held stuck in place by the immensity of his 'reward'.
Finally he managed to reach into the reserves of air trapped within his lungs and breathed out
in one desperate gasp.

"Rose?"

Her head twitched to the side slightly, following the direction of his voice. She went to turn
and the Doctor saw what was about to happen almost too late. Her movements were
uncharacteristically choppy, disjointed, and when she went to turn her left leg moved but her
right did not. Her toes caught on her other ankle and she couldn't balance it out. She
staggered, trying to right herself, but that movement seemed to only throw her off more as
she tripped, not even bothering to throw out her hands to break the fall.

The Doctor moved faster than he thought possible in his current condition. One moment his
Rose was falling towards the ground on the other side of the room, and the next he was
catching her under the arm, falling to his own knees in order to keep her from striking the
ground. He held her against his chest as she began to struggle weakly, a faint whimper
escaping her lips as she tried feebly to wiggle out of his grasp.

He just held her closer, not willing to let her go, not after all of this. "Shh…." He breathed
comfortingly into her ear, "It's alright, Rose, It's me. I've got you. I've got you…"

She slowly stopped her weak attempts to get away and just fell limply in the Doctor's arms.
He hugged her closer for a split second before helping her to sit up, running a hand alone her
cheek and into her blonde hair as she sat there unresponsively. It was as if she hadn't entirely
registered he was there.

Her eyes were closed lightly, like she wasn't bothered enough to open them, and the Doctor
suddenly realized how desperate he was to see those kind brown orbs once more, to remind
him that there is still good and kindness in the universe. "Rose, please, look at me."

After a moment she finally responded, blinking her eyes open slowly. She frowned, eyes
zooming in and out of focus as they tried to zero-in on the Doctor's face. It felt like an
eternity before she finally opened her mouth and whispered a soft and slurred, "Docta?"

The Doctor felt as though he could do twelve back flips in a row, resisting the urge to punch
the air as Rose showed some kind of awareness, some kind of recognition. He fought back
the tears of joy threatening to blur the sight of his human companion as he pulled her into
another embrace. This time she responded, clumsily wrapping her arms around his torso and
leaning her head against his chest, breathing in deeply. The Doctor honestly didn't know if
he'd be able to release her from their embrace ever again. Two and a half weeks. Two and a
half weeks he'd been worried sick about her, imagining the worst, fighting to find her,
submitting to find her, and here she was, back in his arms.

He heard a sniff and a gasp and realized Rose was beginning to sob lightly into his shirt.
"Hey, shh," He pushed her softly from his chest so they could see each other's faces again,
and that was when he noticed it. Her eyes. Yes, they were still brown and kind and everything
that was beautiful in the universe, but now they were dulled, a thin layer of mist hanging over
them and they didn't seem capable of focusing on any one thing. They kept sliding in and out
of clarity as if she were grasping for reality and slipping from its slick handlebars. He leaned
in close to her neck and sniffed her skin, smelling for the blood running in the main arteries
along her throat. He cringed as he smelt the foreign substance in her veins. She was drugged.

He pulled away sharply so he could look her over, search for any other signs of abuse, but she
quickly grabbed his wrist, dragging him back to her. "P-please. Don't l-l-leave me." She
begged in a broken whisper.

"Oh, Rose," He leaned his forehead against hers, his right hand wrapped around the back of
her neck. "I'm never going to leave you. I never could."

She dragged in a sobbing breath. "Then w-where have you b-been? You l-l-left me here. You
– al-lone – I…" Her words became disjointed as she hung her head. The Doctor couldn't
breathe. His hearts were jammed up in his throat, cutting off all his air and words. He pulled
Rose close, kissing her on the top of the head with more force then he intended, but he
couldn't help it. He had to assert he was there. She was there. They were together again and –
Rassilon, why did his hearts hurt so much?

"Listen to me," He demanded softly, speaking into her hair. "I wouldn't leave you, I
could never leave you. I found you again, I'm right here, we're together, and I'm never going
to let you go again."

She hiccupped adorably into his shoulder. "I t-th-thought you were…I s-saw you on the f-
floor of the sh-ship… I thought….and th-then I didn't see you…and they w-wouldn't t-t-tell
me anything…"

"Shhhhh, Rose, please. I'm fine. I'm right here." He kept repeating because he wasn't sure
how much she was able to believe it. He could smell the drug on her but was unable to
pinpoint exactly what the concoction was or what it was for. But he could feel her slipping
away from him and he had to ground her back to reality. "I'm going to get us out of here. I
don't know how yet, but I will. We've been in worse pickles, eh? You and me. We can do this,
right Rose?"

"We can…we can use…" Her words were almost inaudible. And then suddenly she giggled,
the corners of her lips pulling up into a distracted smile. "…h-horses…" She giggled again
before her face instantly fell into a frown. Her eyes screwed shut once again as she muttered,
"No…no, please. I don't want to…"
"Rose?"

She began struggling again, trying to wiggle her way out of the Doctor's arms, her face
contorted in fear. "No. Please. Please."

"Rose, what's wrong?"

"I don't want to."

"I know, I know." The Doctor didn't know, but he was at a loss of whatever else he could do.
Tears were stinging across Rose's cheeks as she shook her head. "Don't worry, you don't have
to." Whatever it was. "You don't have to."

"Please…" He thought she whispered, but it sounded more like a gust of air falling from her
lips. Her body felt like it was turning to dough in his arms, his embrace becoming the only
thing holding her up anymore.

"Rose?" The Doctor begged, but she was drifting further away, slipping from him.

"Doc….tor? I –" She sighed sadly before her head lolled backwards on her neck, her whole
body going completely limp.

The Doctor panicked, his hearts racing and threatening to choke him. "Rose!" He shouted as
he senselessly shook her shoulders, desperate for her to come back to him. He had just found
her, just got her back. She couldn't leave him so soon, not like this. He barely noticed the
geyser of tears finally falling down his face as he pulled her unresponsive body closer to his,
begging for her to come back to him. She didn't, but the Doctor stammered in relief as he felt
her heart beating steadily within her chest. He pulled her mouth close to his ear and heard her
weak, irregular breathing, but it was there, steady enough. He lowered her carefully back to
the ground, laying her down on her back and tilting her head up to open her airways further.

He shuddered then as he saw for the first time the dark purple bruising around her throat,
clearly finger-shaped bruises forming against her pale skin. He simmered with anger and
disgust as he noticed similarly horrible bruises around her wrists and upper arms. He stood,
no longer feeling the pain in his ankle, and ran a hand through his matted hair, ruffling it like
a cat sticking up the fur on its back, turned, paced, paused, looked down at Rose's
unconscious form, and then stormed towards the door.

He slammed his fist against it, hard, rattling the metal. He pounded against it repeatedly, the
sound echoing through their small room. He snarled, feeling the storm building up inside
him, unable and unwilling to be contained. "What did you do to her?!" He shouted through
the door desperately.

Suddenly the door was thrown open and before the Doctor could adjust to the change a fist
was slammed into his abdomen. He doubled over, winded and shocked, as a guard grabbed
him by the shoulders and instantly threw him against a wall, pinning him to it with an arm to
his throat. He froze as two more men swarmed through the door, one being his keeper and the
other was a man he was unfamiliar with but who he instantly loathed upon sight. He began to
struggle against the guard as the strange keeper went to Rose's side and pressed a finger to
her throat, feeling for a pulse. Even unconscious Rose still flinched away from his touch.

"Get away from her!" The Doctor yelled, earning him another blow to his side. He staggered
as his injured ribs screaming in discomfort but was held in place by the guard's unyielding
hand.

The two keepers ignored him, kneeling beside the unconscious human. "This is exactly why I
needed to keep an eye on it." The stranger snapped at Bachir. "Do you understand the damage
your damn reunion may have caused to it?"

"Oh, calm yourself, Malex, it'll be fine. It hardly needs a mind to do what you're going to be
selling it for, anyways."

Malex growled. "Even a sex-slave needs to be able to think, Bachir. Brain-dead, how will it
be able to perform up to standard?"

The Doctor felt his blood run cold. He stood against the wall, anger and hatred at such a level
he felt a bizarre serenity wash over him, like the calm before the storm. His chest rose and
fell from the immense effort of holding it all in as he glared at the stranger. The room cackled
with the electricity of his hatred, enough to finally draw the attention of the two keepers.
"You touch her one more time," The Doctor growled threateningly, his voice low as it came
through his clenched teeth. "I will rip your head off your shoulders and feed it to a Sarlacc."

Malex glanced up at him for a moment before laughing and turning back to Rose. "Perhaps
you should try training your creature some manners." He suggested condescendingly to
Bachir, who rolled his eyes and glared with his fiery orange eyes at his trainee.

"Oh, don't worry," He replied sinisterly. "It'll get its lesson."

The Doctor lifted his chin defiantly, meeting his keeper's eye. He knew he'd regret it later, but
he couldn't help it. Something about Rose kindled the fire within him, and now it was
roaring, raging, consuming his self-control and burning it to ashes. Instinct was all that
survived the flames.

Malex seemed satisfied with the pulse he found and instead let his fingers drift over the skin
on Rose's delicate neck, tracing down her collar bone and brushing across one of her breasts
over the fabric of her shirt. "Yes…everything is still good." He moaned happily.

And that was it for the Doctor. The fire became lightning as he struck out at the guard,
grabbing the arm pinning him to the wall and twisting it, hearing the satisfying snap of the
bone rupturing. The guard howled in pain as he retracted his broken arm and the Doctor
quickly brought his knee up into his stomach before taking hold of the guard's head and
slamming it, hard, into the wall. The guard crumpled to the ground, unconscious.

It had all happened so fast the two keepers hadn't even had time to register what was
happening before the Doctor launched himself at them. He ignored Bachir, just as the keeper
had always ignored him as if he were nothing, and slammed into Malex. The force of it sent
them flying into the opposite wall, the keeper gasping in surprise. That would be his last
breath as the Doctor wound his fingers around the keeper's throat, tightening his hold until
Malex gurgled desperately for air. "I told you not to touch her." The Doctor growled into the
man's ear as his grip tightened even more. He was going to strangle the man, tear his head off
like he had promised. He was a warrior, a soldier, a killer, a murderer…

No.

The Doctor stumbled backwards, releasing his hold on Malex's throat. The keeper slid to the
ground, gasping and clutching at his bruise windpipe as the Doctor stared down at him, eyes
wide with disbelief at what he had been about to do. He couldn't. He couldn't do it, not
anymore. He was already guilty enough, the pressure of it threatening to implode his soul
with every breath, he could not afford to add more blood to the mix.

He wasn't given a chance to consider it any longer as agonizing pain laced up and down his
body. He crashed to his knees, then to his side, as the prod was held against his skin, sending
wave after wave of misery through the Time Lord. He writhed on the floor, his already
overly-abused body wanting to give up, as he shouted and screamed through the pain. How
long were they going to hold it against him? It had already been a century, he was sure of it,
but the pain kept coming, unrelenting. Darkness edged closer. The pain stopped but he was
only minutely aware of it. More pain exploded for a mere second in his head as something –
a boot? – collided with it, sending him down that final stretch into darkness.

Bachir scowled down at the pathetic form of the slave, curled up around itself as electricity
continued to course through its body. He dropped the prod where it clattered against the tiled
floor and turned back to Malex. The other keeper had managed to pull himself to his feet, still
breathless with a hand still massaging the skin on his throat. "Are you okay?" Bachir asked.

Malex snarled savagely. "That thing nearly killed me! How dare it touch me like that."

"It's alright, I've handled it." Bachir tried to reassure him, but Malex just glowered at him
before sending his boot flying into the side of the limp slave. It didn't even respond, but
somehow it made the keeper feel better.

"Handle it!?" Malex nearly shouted. "I know how you can handle it! Put the damn thing
down. It's dangerous, volatile, not worth your damn time to train and you know it. Just
dispose of it, Bachir, or I will."

"Control yourself, Malex!" Bachir barked back, kneeling down to check his own ward's
pulse. He frowned before remembering the thing had two hearts, and therefore the quickened,
double-beating of its pulse was normal. What are you? He asked himself for what felt like the
hundredth time that day. He stood and faced the fuming keeper again. "Look passed your
own training biases and think about what you just saw." Malex scoffed and so Bachir pushed
on. "Those lightning quick reflexes, the way it made that guard look like a toddler going up
against a bear, someone will pay good money for that. A war lord, a gambler in the fighting
rings. I'm not going to eliminate that possibility by wasting this thing."

Malex laughed harshly. "And I'll be saying 'I told you so' to your grave when the thing finally
turns on you. Until then, keep it away from my trainee. This one, at least, will pull in
something more than a meat-packers wallet." He looked down one more time at the male's
body with disgust and sneered. "Or maybe it needs a trainer who is actually able to break it,
run it into the ground. You're losing your touch, Bachir."

Bachir turned away, eyeing his ward with a similar look of antipathy as the other keeper had,
considering his words and accepting it as a challenge. "Don't worry, Malex. I'll make sure the
thing regrets it even looked at your shoes today."
 Chapter 22

The drug-induced haze shimmered around her as she slowly floated to the surface once more.
She didn't want to open her eyes; she's been dreaming. The best dream she'd had in a long,
long time. She wanted to go back to it, back to him, but the call of consciousness was getting
too strong to avoid now. Her tongue felt thick and cottony in her mouth and she longed for
something to drink almost more than she wanted to go back to the dream.

Awareness rose with her and she suddenly realized she was lying on something soft and
actually comfortable. She felt herself frown as her fingers performed lazy circles on the soft
material beneath her, trying to decipher what it was. But before she could figure it out some
invisible force seized the back of her throat, trailing its fingers over the torturously sensitive
area and causing her to gag and cough. The coughing came out harsh and dry and only
seemed to hurt her throat even more. She sprang up into a sitting position as she clutched at
her chest, eyes watering from the assault.

Something was pressed against her lips and her head was tilted back as something cool slid
into her mouth. It trickled down her throat and instantly eased the aching.

"That's it, just keep drinking." A voice said beside her. Rose gulped desperately at the water
as she realized what it was, hardly even registering who was encouraging her. Malex watched
his trainee with stony, impassive eyes as her body stopped convulsing from the coughs. But
once she finally peeled her eyes open, his own took on a kind, sympathetic look that had
certainly not been there moments before.

With a start, Rose suddenly realized how close he was sitting to her and jumped backwards,
sliding a few inches up the soft surface. Malex gently placed a hand on the small of her back
and kept her from going any further. He glanced over her for once without a hunger in his
eyes, but rather concern. "Are you alright, 258?"

Rose sat frozen for a moment, staring at him, before slowly nodding her head. The movement
caused a spot just above her brow to sear and ache, and the bruised skin around her throat
strained as it was pulled. But she nodded anyway. Because that was what he wanted to see.

"Don't let them hurt you if they don't have to. Don't give them an excuse. Just cooperate and
be okay."

She had tried to follow the Doctor's orders. Those were some of the last words he said to her
so very, very long ago on that transport ship, right before he was poisoned and left convulsing
on the ground at her feet. She had never felt such fear as she had then. He was dying, she was
sure of it. She could see it in his face, in the way his body writhed unrestricted, in how he
breathed out her name as he finally fell motionless, as if it were the last thought that would
ever drift across his brilliant mind. She was lost and alone and so scared, but she stuck to his
words, for he had never led her astray before. Except for getting me stuck in here.

Rose shook her head as that thought cut across her mind like a poisonous snake. This wasn't
the first time that horrible thought had reared its ugly head. She didn't want to blame the
Doctor for getting her into this situation…but sometimes she simply couldn't help it.

"Well? Which is it?" Malex snapped when Rose began to shake her head.

She swallowed heavily passed the lump in her dry throat before replying, "I'm fine." Even her
words sounded scratchy and she resisted the urge to massage her neck. Why did her neck hurt
so much?

Malex seemed pleased enough with the weak response. He lifted both her hands so he could
examine her wrists, which were now a bluish-yellow color from bruising. Rose frowned. She
couldn't remember where those bruises came from. "Did he hurt you anywhere else?"

Rose canted her head to the side. "Hurt me…? Who?"

Malex raised his eyebrows and sneered, "That monster you call your mate. Do you not
remember?"

Rose's heart pounded in her chest. Her breath hitched slightly in her lungs as she almost
looked up into her keeper's face, looking for acknowledgement that what he said was real, but
quickly let her eyes fall to a spot on his chest. "The Doctor? We…we saw him? He – what?"

"Yes, your glorified physician." Malex rolled his eyes. "You really don't remember?

We crossed him in one of the training rooms last night and he attacked you. Strangled you till
you were unconscious. If we hadn't pulled him off, there is no doubt in my mind he would
have killed you."

She raised a hand almost absentmindedly to her throat, pressing in lightly and feeling the
bruises against her skin. She could imagine hands around her neck, squeezing, pressing, but
they weren't his hands. She knew the Doctor's hands, and it wasn't – couldn't – have been his.
She began to shake her head assertively, brow furrowed. "No. No, he wouldn't do that. Not to
me."

"He had his hands around your throat, had you pinned against a wall. He tried to rape you
and hurt you so badly you can't even remember."

"No, you don't understand." Rose countered, but her voice wavered with uncertainty as the
bruises pulled at her skin as she spoke. "That not 'im. That's not the Doctor. He could never
–"

"Think back, 258 – "My name is Rose, she thought automatically as she had trained herself to
do from the beginning, not wanting to forget who she was. "– Try to think to last night. That
monster was there." Rose did try to think back and find proof of her keeper's lies. Everything
was hazy. She couldn't remember anything concrete, but rather colors and shapes and sounds.
She remembered unkempt brown hair, a figure in the same gray outfit as herself, a voice
floating in and out of clarity, distinctly familiar, so very much him. "Let you go …get us out…
shh…rip your head off your shoulders!"
Rose flinched violently as she heard him shout in her mind. "Rip your head off your
shoulders!" She remembered hearing it as if from a disembodied voice, but the memory was
too disjointed to put all the pieces back together. She hoped she had just imagined it. Could
he…could he really possibly have been talking to her?

Against her will, her eyes began to well up with unshed tears. She was too exhausted for this
situation, her mind still too fuzzy. Malex watched on with convincing sympathy in his eyes as
she squirmed and shook her head. "He wouldn't…"

"But he did." His voice was forceful as he took her by the shoulders, hands squeezing almost
painfully, possessively. "Because he's a monster, 258. The training changes you, and
sometimes for the worst, bringing out the primal, violent creatures within. That is what
you've been resisting for, a monster who wanted to rape and kill you upon sight. At least what
I have to offer proposes a life of luxury."

"Luxury?" Rose eventually scoffed at the word. "You're tryin' to sell me as a slave! What
luxury is in that!"

"More luxury than is in death, 258." She hated when he called her by her number. That, more
than his words and treatment towards her, made her feel as low as the dirt on the floor, and
just as worthless. "Stop resisting my training and help me help you find an owner who will
care for you in the way you deserve." His hand was suddenly cupping her cheek, thumb
running over her jaw line and brushing away the stray tears of confusion and fear. "Promise
me you will forget that creature you came here with, who tried to violate you in the most
gruesome way, and way I have never, nor will I ever, allow. I will find you an owner who
knows your value when he sees it, but I will need your help and cooperation in doing so."

Rose had hardly listened to his words. Her thoughts were too far away, in a memory she
didn't even possess. The Doctor's body crushed against hers, a hard surface behind her,
pressure tightening around her throat, darkness, his angry voice. She heard her keeper ask
something, his words kind and gentle but insistent, and she found herself nodding her head
instinctively. Then his thumb ran over her cheek once more and she was drawn back to the
adoring look in his eye.

"Thank you." He said before swooping down and gently pressing his lips to hers, lightly, like
the brush of a feather. Rose didn't react. He stood up then, telling her to get some rest and that
she had work to do later, and she couldn't resist the lure of sleep. She let herself lie down on
the merciful soft surface and was asleep again by the time her eyes closed. And as a result,
she missed the devious sneer on her keepers face as he turned and left her alone.

The door slid shut silently behind him and he came face-to-face with an unamused Vadim.
"Well?" He questioned with his arms folded across his chest. Malex smiled again.

"The dosage was too strong for its frail system, true, but it worked stunningly. The pathetic
thing doesn't even know what to believe anymore. Congratulations, you are one step closer to
synthesizing the manipulation of decision making than any of us previously thought possible,
Dr. Vadim."
Malex held out his hand to congratulate him, but Vadim just scowled at it. "I did not invent
this serum so that you can manipulate your helpless slaves into believing their will is free.
You should not be giving them such hopeless delusions, it's cruelty beyond necessity."

"You should just be grateful it works and that you even have subjects to test it on." Malex
snarled back. "After creation, you have no say in how it will be used. That is for the keepers
to decide."

Vadim sighed, annoyed, and continued his orange glare even as Malex began to walk away.
"What did you tell her, Malex?" He called out before he could help himself

Malex grinned cruelly as he turned down the hall. "Only the worst truth I could conjure."

Two Weeks Later

The tray clattered to the ground with a reverberating CRASH, echoing off the walls of the
empty Doctor stared down in horror at the shattered and spilled remains of his keeper's meal,
destroyed by the shards of glass now mixed within the delicious smelling meat and sautéed
vegetables. He swallowed as he glanced nervously around before he quickly fell to his knees
and began to try and separate out the larger shards.

His stomach flipped over as he was attacked once again by the mouth-watering aroma of the
food. It roared desperately for him to steal just a nibble. For days he'd gone without a bite to
eat and only water to sustain him. He could feel the weight of his starvation dragging him
down, pulling on his limbs, making them heavy and clumsy, resulting in the unfortunate and
completely avoidable stumble that had just toppled the keeper's food to the floor.

This was his punishment. Clearly his guilt and desperation and absolute depression upon
discovering that he had lost Rose once again, this time for what could very possibly be
forever, was not enough punishment in his keeper's eyes. And so his thin, shaking fingers
reached gingerly for a piece of the ruined meat, inspecting it carefully as his mouth watered
and his stomach growled. The Doctor shuddered through the pain of his gnawing belly before
twisting his head, shaking off the weakness. He was a Time Lord, for Rassilon's sake! A little
bit of starvation should not faze him in such a way. And yet that, combined with the ever-
increasing feeling of dread and despondency, left him shaking and rattled.

He wanted to fight. Oh, Rassilon, he wanted to fight back finally, take what was his, what he
deserved as the last of the Time Lords. If these monsters knew what he was, what he was
capable of, they would be kneeling before him, cowering at his feet, begging for forgiveness
for all they had done to him and his loved ones.

But the fact remained that they didn't know. The results of his DNA reading had still yet to
come in, and the Doctor knew it would be even more detrimental to not only his health and
safety, but also to Rose's, if they ever discovered who he truly was. And as much as he
wanted to, they would never see the Oncoming Storm come back to fruition. He was too
exhausted now, worked day and night by Bachir, who seemed to have lost all intention of
ever giving his slave rest again. The Doctor did everything for Bachir now, unwillingly, of
course, except for for the promises of water and, one day maybe, food. It had gotten to that
point where the Doctor could hardly differentiate their demands from his own free-will.
There was simply no time or place for such wasted energy on thought. He was already
spending it all on staying awake, keeping his feet moving, ignoring the clawing in his
stomach.

Thoughts of Rose, thoughts of freedom, thoughts of insubordination had unconsciously been

sent to the backburners of his great mind as it began to shut down. He had no need for it, his
keeper thought for him, commanded him, instructed him, he no longer needed to think but of
how quickly and painlessly he could complete his next task.

Stop that! The Doctor growled at himself as he carefully piled the largest shards of glass he
could find into a reasonably sized stack. The food was now looking less dangerous – though
now it also looked even more appetizing to the starving Time Lord – and the Doctor
attempted to scoop it all back onto the cracked tray. He would fetch another glass of wine
later. For a moment he considered sneaking a piece of the sharp metal into his shirt sleeve, or
even into the meat and have Bachir choke on it and cut his throat to ribbons while he stuffed
his face and allowed his helpless slaves to starve.

The Doctor shook his head again at this. He regretted greatly that he had not had the guts to
go through with strangling Malex as he had promised, but he knew there was no point in
attempting to kill his keeper. He would simply be given to another, or even put down (he had
already caused them enough trouble as it was). Even though he wouldn't die from it,
regenerating in front of all these sadistic bastards would definitely not help his situation. And
it would certainly help in narrowing down the list of species he could come from, not to
mention give them further reason to harm him even more. Science. No – the Doctor decided,
brushing dustings of glass from his fingertips – revenge would simply have to wait.

"What are you doing?" A voice suddenly snarled behind him.

The Doctor scrambled quickly to his feet, holding the tray close to his thin body. He had
already lost a lot of weight from his two weeks of forced fasting. Bachir stood in front of
him, arms crossed, face twisted into a scowl as he glanced at the jumbled mess of food on the
tray.

"I…the tray…" The Doctor stammered before clearing his throat quietly, trying to fight down
the spike of nerves assaulting him. "I just tripped. I'm – I'm cleaning it up though."

Bachir stalked forward slowly, scrutinizing the meal with a disgusted sneer. "And were you
considering serving this to me?"

The Doctor resisted taking a step backwards. Why was he so weak? He opened his mouth,
but for some reason nothing came out, so he closed it and quickly tried again. "N-no, I was
just –"

The tray was smacked suddenly from his hands and the Doctor jumped backwards in
surprise, inhaling sharply as he nearly stepped down with his bare feet on the pile of broken
glass shards. Food remains splattered across his feet and the hateful cold metal band
encircling his left ankle. "You clumsy, lying piece of shit." Bachir growled as he advanced on
the faintly retreating Time Lord. "Can you even do anything right, you worthless animal?"
The Doctor averted his eyes, bowing his head slightly as the insults washed over him. He
didn't respond because he hated the only answer he had to it. Of course he couldn't do
anything right. He couldn't even walk across a room without tripping and knocking
everything over, it seemed. The fact that he had once saved universes and sent entire armies
running at the mere mention of his name seemed laughable now.

WHAM! Bachir smacked the Doctor out of his reverie. "Answer me!"

The Doctor looked down at his feet again and muttered, "No, sir."

Bachir nodded condescendingly. "Of course not. You pathetic things are incapable of that,
anyway. But let's see whether we can help beat some competency into you." He reached for
his comm. device and quickly turned it on, static greeting him for a moment before
dissipating. "Guards, would you help me out with teaching a quick lesson?"

The Doctor jerked his head up, fear twinkling lightly in his widened eyes. The door opened
behind him and four more guards marched forward, snickering to themselves as they saw the
situation. The Doctor immediately attempted to shrug off the hands grabbing at his shoulders,
dragging him backwards, and stared pleadingly at his keeper, hating himself even as the word
came pouring uncontrollably from his mouth. "No, please. Please, I'm sorry. I'll be good."

"Yes, 305," Bachir replied with a deceivingly kind spark in his orange eyes. "I know you will
be." Then he nodded and the guards began to lead the Doctor out of the room. He tried to
struggle, tried to wiggle his way out of their hold, even tried to throw a punch or kick out or
do anything to keep then from dragging him our that door. Because he knows what happens
when he gets dragged away like this. But they were four strong, well-fed, well-rested men
against one exhausted, starved, scared 'slave'. There was little challenge.

"Here," He heard Bachir's voice again just as he was being pulled through the door. He saw
the keeper hand a small silver remote to one of the guards and he couldn't suppress the shiver
that ran down his spine. "Just in case it gives you trouble."

"Yes, sir." The guard responded gleefully.

The Doctor shut his eyes as he was finally torn from the room, giving in to the guards as he
realized there was nothing he could do against them. He sucked in a shattered breath as the
blows began to fall, as the remote was pressed, as they leered and laughed and prowled with
their hands, as he was given his lesson.

When they brought him back to his cage later he was no longer bothered enough to care. He
let them drag him down the grated hallways, passed all the caged aliens who cowered silently
behind their bars. They tore his cage open and tossed him inside, letting him crumple to the
floor carelessly, before slamming and locking it behind them. They walked away, still
laughing and mocking their victim, but the Doctor didn't care. He just curled up around
himself. He didn't cry, even though he was hurt and frustrated enough to. No, instead he just
breathed, in and out, slowly, feeling each molecule of air brush lightly against his lips like a
kiss. Yes, focus on that…
A shudder ran up his spine as his body begged him for something to eat. The pain in his
stomach was nauseating, to the point where he wondered if he'd even be willing to eat
anything if he were to be presented with it. He was sure he would be, but at the moment it
was nice to just imagine he wouldn't; better to think about not wanting food than
of how much you want food.

His eyes shot open as something soft brushed across his outstretched hand. Red fingers were
gently stroking his own, and the Doctor glanced up to see Lalay watching him with her large
black eyes, the corners of her brows tilted downwards with concern. The Doctor tried to push
himself up, for some reason suddenly caring again about looking weak, but her hand
suddenly pressed down on his, signaling him to stay still. He was more than happy to oblige.

The hand vanished for a moment and the Doctor felt a pang of loss and regret before he saw
her reaching back through the meshing dividing their cages. But now she held something in
her hand: a round yellow roll of bread large enough to fill her whole palm. The Doctor's eyes
flicked up to her, questioning with a furrow of his eyebrows, but she simply smiled and
jerked her hand, encouraging him to take it from her. His stomach did a somersault as he
cautiously took the roll from Lalay. The crust on the outside was thick and hard, but just
holding it between his fingers he could tell the inside dough would be nice and soft.

Suddenly he didn't feel like he could go another second without the bread. He tore it in half
and discovered he had been right about the inside. He scooped up to soft dough and observed
it for a moment. Would he even be able to keep anything he eats down? Bread was pretty
neutral and bland, but even so, it was more solid than he would have hoped. But beggars can't
be choosers, so he quickly plopped the bread in his mouth, savoring the taste on his tongue
before swallowing it thickly. He waited for something to go wrong, but nothing did, and so
the rest of the bread was gone within seconds.

He glanced up at Lalay, who was still watching him through the bars, and mouthed "Thank
you" even as his eyes began to feel heavy. Even that meager amount of bread had satisfied
him, his Time Lord metabolism taking care of the rest, but now he just wanted to sleep. He
had jump-started the battery and now he wanted to let it charge.

But before he could, Lalay quirked her head to the side, indicating with her curled fingers
from him to come closer. Slowly, the Doctor pushed himself onto his knees and crawled over.
He leaned heavily against the meshing between them, exhausted from the intricacies of the
small movement, but still managed to flash her a small smile. She returned it, if somewhat
sadly, and reached her hand through the meshing to grasp his. The Doctor held back a curious
frown. She had never allowed him to touch her before; he couldn't even sit next to her in the
dinning hall without her becoming tense and stiff. But now her red fingers traced over his in a
comforting yet non-intimate manner.

The Doctor watched as one of the fingers running over his knuckles began to turn a deeper
shade of red, then maroon, and then slowly it ebbed into purple. The color spread up her
wrist, arm, shoulder, up under her gray shirt and then crawled up her neck, the dark purple
consuming her face until all the red was gone. Only the black spots artfully dotting her
neckline, her black eyes, and her equally dark hair remained the same. The Doctor smiled in
awe and she beamed back. It was a gorgeous transformation and he could see the joy and
pleasure of successfully contrachroming sparkling in her eyes.

The dark purple began to lighten until it became a soft violet. And then turquoise streaks
began to appear among the purple, like the light strokes of an artist's brush. Miniscule silver
dots formed across her hands and arms and the Doctor gasped as he recognized the
constellations of stars from the Shelwickian Galaxy.

Lalay quickly glanced over her shoulder and scanned the hallway, looking for guards within
earshot, before leaning forward and pressing her lips to the meshing beside the Doctor's ear.
"On my planet," She began in a breathy whisper. She paused and glanced back again. Slaves
weren't allowed to talk while in their cages, but sometimes the guard's ears were turned off or
too far away. She turned back to the Doctor who was still studying the array of stars painted
into her skin. "On my planet, the sky is bright blue during the day, like on Earth. But at
sundown, the blue gives way to the dark purple of night."

Another pause and glance over her shoulder. The Doctor nodded that she was in the clear, and
she continued. "But before night, during twilight, the sky is such a soft purple it looks like
asphidenna petals, and the last remaining turquoise of the once blue sky become wisps and
the stars stand out in vibrant clarity." The Doctor closed his eyes to the sound of her
whispered voice, like a lullaby, like a gorgeous bedtime story. He felt himself getting lost in
the exotic way her tongue danced over the pronunciation of the foreign words. "I used to get
off kitchen duty just in time to watch the sunset," She was saying. "I would go and lie in the
blue grass and watch the sky turn. Twilight on Shelwick will always be my favorite time of
day. I taught myself how to contrachrome into that masterpiece, perfecting the colors and the
strokes of the turquoise, until I could flawlessly resemble that sky. That way, no matter where
I am taken, I will always have a little of Shelwick with me."

The Doctor opened his eyes to see her staring at him through the bars of their cages, her own
black orbs misty with memories. Her now purple fingers were still drawing circles on the
back of his hand.

"If you can discover your one anchor, that one thing who ties you to who you are, nothing
can feel lonely." She said. "Nothing can feel impossible. You can find –"

Her word cut off sharply as there was a faint buzz and her back arched outwards for a second,
a snarl of pain escaping her lips before she relaxed, breathing hard. "No talking!" A harsh
voice called from down the hall.

Lalay bowed her head and went to move away, but the Doctor grabbed her hand back up,
halting her. He knew his anchor. He knew exactly what tied him to being himself. He was
the Doctor.The mender. The man who heals and comforts and saves. But lately he had not
had many chances to heal others, to show comfort, to save them. He was feeling lonely, it
was true, useless even, and he had allowed that devour his own self-awareness. He had given
in.

But not anymore. He knew what he needed to do. Now, even in this small act, he could not
feel quite so useless. It was his turn to comfort someone else finally.
Lalay glanced up at him in surprise as he grabbed her hand, keeping her next to him against
the mesh wire. He turned her hand over so his fingers pressed again the pulse pumping
beneath her purple skin and gently branched out with his mind. She stiffened as she felt his
consciousness brush against her own, panicking slightly until he soothed her with his
thoughts.

Shh, it's okay, it's just me. He sent through the link, focusing all his calm and comforting
thoughts towards her until her mind relaxed enough to allowed him in. He graciously stepped
into the foyer of her mind, politely waiting where her subconscious allowed him to appear.
He did not want to push the boundaries of his welcome, for it had been a miracle the skittish
alien had allowed him in at all. He just wanted to leave his present for her and step back with
his gratitude.

With a deep breath through his slowly mending nose, he began to delve into the depths of his
mind, searching for the memory of purple skies and blue murderous grass. It had been many
centuries since then, but he could still remember it like it was yesterday, the beauty and
tranquility of that Shelwickian summer sky unparalleled by many of the wonders of the
universe. He presented the memory to Lalay through their connection, showing her the
twinkle of the stars in the violet sky, the way with wind ruffled the leaves on the trees
surrounding the lake he and Sarah Jane had stumbled upon while running from some enemy
he couldn't even remember. It was a gorgeous image of a warm summer night, and he hoped
the native Aonian would be pleased with it.

He opened his eyes to find a single stray tear sliding down Lalay's face, catching on the
corner of her lips which were upturned into a full smile. He felt himself beaming in response.
It felt good – no, it felt amazing – to see someone smile again, and he realized with a jolt just
how long it had been since he'd last seen a genuinely happy smile in this place. The Doctor
squeezed her hand one more time; the exhaustion of such a long telepathic link after so much
physical strain was starting to make his mind feel heavy. He slipped away from her gently but
left the memory behind, securing it to the walls of her consciousness. The memory won't fade
from you now, he added as the connection began to close. You'll have it with you forever,
Lalay, no matter where you go, just like you said.

She hiccupped with happiness, causing her to giggle slightly like the young, excitable girl she
should be, that she had been torn away from. "Thank you." She mouthed through her smile.

The Doctor grinned sleepily as he leaned even further against the bars between them. His
vision was becoming dimmer, fatigue pressing against him insistently, but the world,
somehow, had grown slightly brighter, changing as suddenly and seamlessly as Lalay's skin
color.
 Chapter 23

The Doctor woke with a shout to a sharp zap running through his system. He heard similar
shouts of surprise and pain echoing through the cellblock as everyone else was administered
the brutal wake-up call. The Doctor shook his head to rid the fogginess of sleep and blinked
night-sand from his eyes. He had fallen asleep still leaning against the meshing between his
and Lalay's cages, legs tucked underneath him so now they were tingling with numbness.
And the shock had not helped decrease the painful pins-and-needles sensations at all.

He looked down and saw Lalay glancing around with confusion as well. She never missed
waking up before the alarm. The Doctor frowned as his internal clock informed him that it
was actually too early for it to be the normal wake-up time. Everything here ran on a strict,
tight schedule…why was it different now?

His frown deepened as he heard the door at the end of the hallway crash open and two voices
drifted angrily into their cages.

"This is fucking ridiculous!" One grumbled followed by a vibrating, crashing sound that
suggested whoever it was had kicked one of the metal cages in his anger. "All of them?"

"That's what they said. Now just hurry up and get them out! Pres wants them in the
showroom by ten after."

The Doctor heard the first few cages being unlocked and swung open, the residents being
dragged out into the hall with various sounds of irritation, pain, and fear. He glanced over at
Lalay, who was now sitting poised on one knee as she watched as best as she could through
the bars of her cage. Her skin was now a startlingly light shade of turquoise, the instinctive
contrachrome vocabulary for contentment – it was extraordinary, the entire race could
communicate solely through skin tones if they so desired. The Doctor guessed with a smile
that she had had a good sleep as well, hopefully with dreams of purple skies. She must have
noticed the Doctor staring at her for she turned to furrow her eyebrows at him. "What's
happening?" The Doctor mouthed, but the only response he received was a shrug.

The two men were getting closer, opening all the cage doors manually it appeared. The
Doctor pushing himself to his knees since he couldn't stand and stretched his back and arms,
swinging his head to one side and hearing a satisfying pop as his vertebras clicked back into
place. That had been the longest amount of sleep he'd gotten in a couple of days without
being interrupted by Bachir's orders and he was feeling pleasantly refreshed from it. His
stomach, although still disappointingly empty, did not ache as horribly as it had before. His
system successfully absorbed the nutrients and sustenance of the small roll of bread, and even
though there had not been much, the Doctor could already feel the energy converted from its
carbohydrates lingering beneath the surface, ready to be put to use for the day.

The men had finally reached his cage door. One of them yanked off the chart hanging next to
his door like everyone else's and sneered as he read it over. "Even this untrainable prick?"
The Doctor recognized him as one of the guards he'd seen around, but not one from the group
last night, who the Doctor wasn't too fond of anymore.

The other man, who was busy unlocking the Ood from his cage directly across from the
Doctor's, turned to look at him over his shoulder. "Pres said the Prebassador wants to see all
the stock. Including the untrained ones. Just get it out, will you?" He growled as he turned
back to the Ood's cage.

The Doctor didn't particularly like – or, frankly, understand – what the two men were saying,
but he was still so satisfied with the amount of sleep he'd received and how he'd managed to
convince Lalay to let down her guard enough to instinctively turn her skin turquoise that a
small smile was still stretching his lips when the guard turned back to him. "Whatchu smiling
at, freak?"

The Doctor just smiled a little bit wider at that. "Good morning to you, too." He said as
cheerfully as he dared. "Thanks for the wake-up call this morning. Would've hated to have
slept in through all the fun I'm sure we're about to have today."

The guard's lip curled upwards as he unlocked his door. "I'd be keeping that tongue of yours
glued to the roof o' your mouth if I'as you. Today's not the day for cheek."

"Wow, great grammar." The Doctor couldn't stop himself from saying as he crawled towards
the opening in the most dignifying manner he could on his knees. He didn't know why he said
it, and he knew he would probably regret it soon, but he'd woken that morning with the
familiar kindling spark of his old confidence, and he simply couldn't bring himself to dose the
fire so soon instead of let it spread.

Unsurprisingly the guard growled at the comment, and very soon the Doctor felt fingers
grabbing him by the hair. He hissed as he was pulled forward, thrown from his cage roughly
into the opposite wall of meshing. "Get up." The man hissed as he turned away from him and
began unlocking Lalay's cage. The Doctor pulled his head into his hands, a sudden headache
ringing through it like a noisy gong. The combination of the telepathy from last night, the
sudden movement this morning, and the lack of food and water from the last couple days
were catching up with him.

Moments later he felt a comforting hand pulling him up insistently. He allowed it and the
meshing beside him to help him to his feet, head still swimming. Lalay pushed him forward
gently, eyes always on the ground. He nodded his thanks and followed the rest of the slaves
down the usual hallway towards the bathrooms and the cafeteria. It had been a while since
he'd participated in this ritual with everyone else; usually Bachir or one of his cronies would
come collect him before he was given the chance to steal a bowl of the now completely
appetizing mush they usually served.

However, no one appeared for him that day. He emerged from the bathroom with the rest of
the male slaves and joined the line forming for their breakfast. He slipped in right behind
Lalay, who tensed for a fraction of a second before relaxing again.

"Lalay, what's going on?" He asked in a whisper as one of the guard rushed passed them, all
looking quite frantic.
Lalay barely turned her head backwards as she responded. "It's an auction. But I've never
seen so many of us being called in at once…and it's too early…" She sounded just as
confused as everyone else looked. The Doctor looked around and realized for the first time
that the cafeteria was crammed with far more aliens than usual. Generally each cellblock of
about ten people ate together at separate times, but now there seemed to be about thirty or
forty men and women crouching at the tables or standing along the walls.

"An auction…?" He mused out loud. He knew of a few auctions happening since he'd
arrived, but had never been placed on sale due to his training status. But he already knew the
general routine just from observations. A pair of guard would usually stalk down the aisles of
the cages, reading off charts and pulling out aliens who matched the budget and criteria of the
buyers for that day. Not all of them were sold each time, and so he had also seen a few of
them shuffling back to their cages, some looking relieved and others outright depressed. He
was starting to relate with the later emotion; if it weren't for Rose he would have wished to be
sold out of this place a long time ago as well.

Speaking of which, the words spoken by the two men who had released them earlier came
back to him. They'd said 'all of them'. The Doctor's heart fluttered as he realized he was
probably looking at the entirety of the Eyal alien-trafficking facility. He scanned the cafeteria
for any sign of that blonde hair as he approached the pot of lukewarm potato mush, but,
deflated, saw nothing that looked like his Rose upon first glance. He looked around again,
hoping she was just sitting out of view and he'd missed her the first time. Or maybe…had she
already been sold?

The Doctor was pulled out of his search as he felt, for the second time that short day, fingers
entwine in his hair and tug him backwards. "Ow, ow, ow!" He protested as he was pulled
mercilessly from the line. Bachir had hold of his hair like a leash, dragging him by it away
from the prospect of breakfast until the Doctor was forced to arch his head down to alleviate
the pressure, bowing to the man and stumbling after him.

Bachir led him through a door into a new hallway and shoved him up against the wall, finally
releasing his hold on the Doctor's hair. "Ouch!" The Doctor ground out flatly as he rubbed out
the top of his head viciously, fluffing up his filthy hair. "Seriously? You couldn't at least let
me eat first before tearing all my hair out?"

His cheek received him a smack across the face, but it wasn't as painful as it usually was,
strong enough to sting but not enough to leave a bruise. This puzzled the Doctor. Bachir had
never had any hesitations on bruising him before.

"Drink." He ordered harshly, shoving a cup of water into the Doctor's hand. He downed half
of it instantly, ignoring the strange taste that tingled over his tongue. He first noticed it a few
weeks ago and knew it was some sort of additive to the water. He assumed at first that it was
extra vitamins and nutrients to keep him going without food for so long, but something told
him that was not the case. He had his theories now, neither of which he liked very much, but
either way his tongue felt thick and his throat dry as the sand in the desert outside Ren's
outpost, so he drank it anyway while Bachir continued to rant mindlessly in front of him.

"This is complete and utter bullshit! Those t'racal bastards, just looking to make
a reis'kladollar." The Doctor resisted raising an eyebrow at his keeper's cursing and rambling.
This was very…uncharacteristic of this Drephesh of very few words. Again he got the feeling
that something wasn't all alright. But he kept his thoughts to himself and continued to drink.

"You finished yet?" The cup was snatched from his hand so fast it spilled over the side,
splattering across the Doctor's bare feet and the keeper's steel-toed boots. Bachir growled in
irritation. He grasped the Doctor by the collar of his shirt and pulled him close, glaring into
his trainee's eyes. The Time Lord choked slightly as a stream of water went down the wrong
pipe and tried to look away as he'd been 'trained' to since meeting the man. "Listen now, 305.
You will not be sold. Not today. I've not finished with you."

"Sounds like someone has a crush on me." Another strike to the stomach met him at his
words. The Doctor doubled over, completely winded. Bachir went on as if nothing had
happened.

"So you're going to behave while I try to iron this crap out, alright?"

"Oh, so now I get a choice in this?" The Doctor pulled himself back up, glaring at his
keeper's forehead while fighting the urge to look away. "Okay then, I choose not to behave."

Bachir measured him up for a moment, sucking on his front teeth, before responding with a
simple, "Okay."

Pain radiated sharply and instantly from the band around the Doctor's ankle. It traveled up his
right leg, slithering up his spine, seizing every muscle along the way. The Doctor groaned as
he clutched at the wall, trying to keep himself upright as everything below the waist went
semi-numb with pins-and-needles. He heard the whine of the anklet shut off but the pain
remained for a moment longer. The wall held no support and the Doctor slid down it, unable
to force his knees to lock.

"However," Bachir was saying above him, his tone not even having changed. He held the
silver remote controlling the anklet loosely to his side, clearly within the Doctor's vision. "If
you choose to behave, there will be no need for that. But you know I'm trigger happy, so
please give me a reason. Now get up."

The Doctor scrambled quickly to his feet. Too quickly. He told himself he didn't want to have
to go through that unnecessary pain again, but he could have just as easily risen to his feet
slowly. That was still obedience. So why had he felt such an urge to react immediately?

He had no time to question his reaction as Bachir grabbed him by the collar of his shirt again
and started marching too hastily down the corridor. The Doctor stumbled to keep up and
catch the keeper's continued commands. "You're going to keep that mouth of yours shut
unless you want it sewn shut, do you hear me?"

"Yes…sir." The Doctor managed to ground out as he struggled to keep up with the keeper.

"Good. Maybe you actually are capable of learning something."

Bachir missed the way the Doctor rolled his eyes, but the Time Lord remained silent this
time, no longer feeling the pull to be impudent. The confidence he'd woken up with was now
almost entirely gone, replaced with that deep-seeded black dread that had been corroding at
him ever since his arrival. Bachir kept his silence as well as he tugged his charge down yet
another hallway, passed guards and other keepers milling around, some directing their own
slaves in various less-possessive ways than Bachir. The Doctor didn't recognize any of them.

They arrived in an area of the facility the Doctor had never been in before. The grated metal
floors gave way to tiles that made a soft slapping sound against the Doctor's bare feet. This
part of the facility was crawling with employees, and not just the guards and trainers the
Doctor had been in company with over the last few weeks. He saw people dressed in the
business attire of their planet running around talking on comm. sets and scribbling on
notebooks. In one area he saw a few rows of advanced computers being typed away at
viciously by determined-looking staff. Even as he was passing, the Doctor saw a complicated
equation drawn incorrectly on a glass sheet wall for some sort of business product and
inflation diagram and his OCD strained to run over and correct it despite himself. But
perhaps it would be a bad idea now to emphasize his heightened knowledge over them,
especially if he was finally being put up for auction.

Finally, they seemed to have reached their destination as Bachir roughly pulled the Doctor to
a halt in front of nice wooden door with a gold plaque next to it that read Fogra Wesll.
Director of Sales.

Bachir knocked less than politely before throwing the door open anyways. He shoved the
Doctor in first before following close behind. To the Doctor's surprise his feet stumbled over
deep, soft carpet. The most comfortable thing he'd felt in weeks. How depressing, the floor is
the most comfortable thing I have.

He just had time to take in his surroundings – a strange potted plant in one corner, a large
desk strewn with papers and files buried under a virtual computer monitor, a surprised and
annoyed Drephesh standing up from behind that desk to glare at them – before Bachir hissed
viciously, "Assume the position."

The Doctor groaned inwardly as he allowed his knees to buckle, thankful for the soft carpet
beneath him. He fell into the same position he'd been trained ruthlessly to perfect: on his
knees, sitting up, back ram-rod straight, arms at his sides, head bowed so all he could see was
the floor directly in front of him. He thought back to the day he'd 'learned' this lesson. A
whole day in which he was forced to stay like this on the mercilessly cold, hard tiles of the
training room, unable to move an inch. And if he did, the anklet would sear up instantly. His
knees had been sore for a week afterwards.

"Bachir, what is the meaning of this?" Wesll demanded. "And what is that doing in here?"

"That is my trainee right now that you're trying to put up for auction. It's not ready, I'm not
through with it yet."

Wesll let out a sigh. "That was the order, Bachir. He wants to see all the stock we have
available, and even untamed ones are still considered procurable."

"You do not understand, Fogra," Bachir argued. "This one is different. It has the potential to
be so much more to Eyal than just a check. Just read Vadim's report –"
"I have. And as heartwarming as it is to see you so attached to it, there is nothing I can do."
The Doctor heard Bachir growl angrily and unconsciously flinched away from it. But
surprisingly, Wesll responded with a low chuckle. "You know, you're the third trainer I've
dealt with this morning. Although none have gone so far as to actually bring their charge to
me. A sympathy play? Trying to get me to see how wild and uncontrollable your trainee is?
Because it seems submissive enough to me."

At that the Doctor simply couldn't help himself. A short laugh escaped through his nose, just
loud enough for the two bickering Drephesh to hear. He quickly sucked in a breath, biting his
lower lip to keep the sound in, but it was too late. The anklet seared as it sent the stream of
electricity through him. With a shout of pain he collapsed forward, just managing to brace
himself before he hit the floor face-first. He writhed for a second, muscles cramping and
releasing sporadically, before it all vanished. Panting, the Doctor pushed himself back to his
knees, shoot a glare over at his keeper so quickly it could easily have been missed. Maybe it
was, because Bachir ignored it and leaned forward over the desk so he could stare intently at
the director of sales.

"If that's not proof enough for you. But it's not the submission I care about, Fogra! There is so
much we don't know about it. We don't even know what species it is yet! Headquarters is
taking their bloody sweet time, and meanwhile I've been wrestling with it's overabundant
ego. It's not sales material yet."

"You know what, I've heard enough." Wesll raised his voice, cutting across Bachir's rant.
"The buyer wants to see all of our stock, and he's pretty damn influential if you're unaware of
that, so he's going to get to see all of our stock, including your little thing here. So I really
don't care how attached you've gotten and whether you want to keep it as a pet now and give
it a nice collar and a bowl, it's going to the auction room today. End of story."

There was a sound of papers being shuffled around before he heard another sigh. "Look,
Bachir," Wesll continued in a softer tone. "The Prebassador is only looking for one purchase
today. One man buying one slave. That's a one in forty-three chance he'll pick…whatever its
number is. And you know what those playboy types are like. He's probably just looking for
some bitch to entertain him during the Trials."

"Well let's hope, Fogra, because if I have to get a new trainee before breaking this one, we all
know who's to blame for it. Get up!"

The last part was clearly directed at the Doctor, who slowly pushed himself to his feet. His
legs were still tingling from the electricity and kneeling for so long. "Oh, and Bachir," Wesll
started again. "Next time you come for a visit, leave your pet outside. It's smelling up the
room."

With an irritated huff, Bachir grabbed the back of the Doctors collar and pulled him up. The
Doctor was getting really tired to behind dragged around in that manner, but didn't have
much choice as the fabric tightened around his throat as his keeper marched off, forcing him
to follow. The door slammed shut behind him and the back of Bachir's hand caught the Time
Lord's face in surprise.

"Ow!" The Doctor growled again as he messaged his reddened cheek. "What was that for?"
"Fat lot of good you were in there." Bachir growled back. The Doctor just scoffed.

"What did you want me to do? Grovel at his feet? 'Please, Director, don't sell me, please.'
AGH!" This time the electricity didn't last too long, but it still sent the Doctor crashing back
down to his knees.

"You mind that fucking mouth, 305. You're still an arrogant, cheeky bastard, but I'm going to
be the one to have the pleasure to break you from it. So you do whatever it takes to not get
sold, you hear me?"

The Doctor laughed from his spot on the floor. "And how, exactly, am I supposed to have
control over that. Maybe if you don't want to sell me you should, oh, I don't know, not put me
up for sale."

He fully expected another shock to come, but it didn't. Instead Bachir just laughed; a low,
threatening laugh. "Oh, believe me, 305. If things went my way you'd be seeing the inside of
an Eyal laboratory before you saw the auction room."

The Doctor swallowed thickly, trying to force it passed the lump that had formed in the back
of his throat. So that's what Bachir had planned for him. To be a lab rat for Eyal's use,
providing information to the same organization he will be attempting to bring down in the
past.

He was pulled roughly to his feet again by the hair and thrown at…well, someone. He
glanced up to see a passing guard now holding him up by the arms after stumbling from the
force of Bachir's shove. The guard quickly brushed him off, a look of repulsion on his face.
"Take this thing to be washed, it's disgusting." Bachir snapped from behind the Doctor. "Then
bring it down to the auction room. Just get it over with."

The Doctor moved quickly to find his feet as the guard gripped him by the upper arm, his
fingers surely about to leave five distinct bruises on his pale skin. He glanced back one more
time to see his keeper glaring at him, his hand nervously twitching and fingers drumming
against his leg subconsciously. The Doctor suppressed a shudder as he realized that the only
room he wanted to see now that he knew Bachir's real plan was the auction room. What
appeared to be the one way out of this place alive…
 Chapter 24

After the cold hose down and scrubbing with the harsh soap that turned his skin pink and raw,
the Doctor was given a new, cleaner pair of gray track-pants and a shirt and was led once
again back down the halls towards the unfamiliar side of the facility. The guard who walked
him was less callous than the others, but his lip did curl down in a disgusted frown every time
the slave stumbled and was forced to touch him. The Doctor guessed from his mannerisms
that this man was not one of the guards on 'stock duty', and therefore had little experience
dealing with the slaves.

He could have taken advantage of it. This sentry was not as on his guard as he should be. The
Doctor could have easily broken away, especially since they didn't see another soul on their
walk to and from the showers. Everyone else must have already been sent to the auction
room already. They passed through another room where the hallways forked off and the
Doctor's hearts jumped as he caught a whiff of fresh air. Not the stale, recycled air of the
facility, but actual clean, fresh air, as if someone had left open a window. All he had to do
was break from the young guard and dash down the opposite hallway to his freedom. Perhaps
he was being too optimistic in believing he could actually get away, because he just shook his
head and kept walking. He wasn't going to get out. He would never make it that far, wouldn't
survive out there alone.

And once again, there was that obnoxious voice in the back of his head that did not sound at
all like the Doctor's. He could hear it more and more now, whereas before it had been just a
silent manipulator. Now, however, he knew to focus on it whenever it appeared, not in order
to listen but in order to hear it, and with each thought the voice got more distinct. It sounded
like Bachir. And he could recognize the words used. Useless. Worthless. Property. Slave.
Stay. Obey. Eyes down. Brainless. Animal. Helpless. Pet.

Can't survive on your own. Those words told him. The Doctor shook his head.

"What?" The guard asked suddenly.

The Doctor jumped despite himself. "N-nothing. Just…water…in my ears." He shook his
head like a dog and winced. He was acting just the way they wanted him to. Like
a dog. But why? Why was he acting like this, cow-towing around these beings that should be
beneath him while his greater consciousness told him not to?

He was starting to get an idea.

The guard scowled. "Keep walking. We're gonna be late."

The smell of fresh air melted away as he was guided down a separate hall. At the end of it the
room opened up into a large warehouse-like area. There were cubicles and computers down
in a dugout area with employees running around, passing out folders, riffling through papers,
typing into keyboards. A sort of carpeted catwalk ran just slightly above them like a hanging
hallway and lead to a staircase topped with a door and a large window overlooking the
computer center. The Doctor was lead down a flight of stairs into a sort of basement area
decorated only with one door, two guards, and what must have been about forty keepers. The
Doctor recognized them all by the same unimpressed scowl they seemed to be wearing at all
times. He glanced around and caught the eye of his own keeper, who was in the middle of
discussing something with another, but he continued to glare at his charge even as he spoke,
as if daring him to try to be sold. The Doctor looked away first.

"Took you're sweet time." One of the guards by the door commented as the Doctor was led
up to it.

"Auction hasn't started yet, right?" The man at the Doctor's side asked hurriedly.

"Naw, rich git hasn't gotten here yet. Pres says he was told the Prebassador was running late,
and of course we all must dance around the money." The guard grumbled as he unlocked the
metal door. The Doctor stayed silent during the exchange. That was the fourth time he'd
heard someone mention the word Prebassador and he knew it meant something important, but
he couldn't quite place its origin.

"Go on." One of the other guards growled at him and he was shoved through the door way.

He stumbled slightly in surprise before spinning around, ready to snap back with some
sarcastic comment, but the door slammed shut in his face, so instead he just grumbled, "Well,
that was rude…"

The Doctor ran a hand through his still drying hair, ruffling it up and flicking out drops of
remaining water. He turned around and as he did so his eyes strayed away up the walls of the
new room. They reached all the way up to the incredibly high ceiling, the top fenced off by
more of the wiring meshing that divided their cells. Everything was dark gray and so boring
to look at the Doctor was fighting off a yawn. There was only the one door he'd been shoved
through and, up high on one of the walls, a gigantic window that jutted out from the wall,
angled downwards so those one the other side could easily see down into the room. It
reminded the Doctor of those stock exchange halls back on earth with the observation rooms
overlooking the exchange floor. He snorted a small laugh as he realized that's exactly what
that room was; stock exchange. Only instead of shares in a company, they were trading him.

The walls were lined with rows of metal benches, none of them looking too comfortable.
There were about forty or fifty beings milling about the room. A few were standing – some
solitary while others had merged together for a sense of safety in a herd – and many more
sitting either along the benches or down on the floor. He caught sight of the turquoise skin of
Lalay sitting cross-legged on the ground, drawing a strange pattern along the metal floor with
her finger. She didn't glance up at him.

The Doctor sighed and resigned himself to sitting alone, knowing better than to disturb Lalay
when she was this anxious and not really desiring starting a conversation with another. They
were all as taut as a bow and ready to snap shut to the world at a moments notice. So instead
he turned back around to try and find a seat on one of the benches.

And then there she was. Perched on one of the benches with her gold hair tucked behind her
ears and legs drawn up to her chest. She looked skinny, though not nearly as horribly starved
and frail as the Doctor did. Her gray clothes fit to her form better than his and made her look
whole, complete, rather than scrawny. The Doctor even noticed that her hair had been washed
and brushed through almost thoughtfully. The vibrant yellow of it seemed to shine like
newly-earthed gold amongst the grim grayness of their surroundings.

But it was her eyes that froze the Doctor where he stood. They were watching him warily
from over her knees, dull recognition emanating from beneath her long lashes. She stared at
him as one might stare at a lion, silently trying to figure out if the creature had already seen
them and wondering when it would pounce.

Something was horribly wrong.

"Oh Rose…what happened?" The Doctor groaned quietly to himself. He flashed her a small,
awkward smile, wondering why it had to be awkward and not joyful, which she did not
return. Oh, that's why. His delight in having finally found his faithful companion was clearly
unrequited for some reason.

Either way, he bounded forward with feigned energy, pretending he hadn't noticed anything
off at all. He cupped his hands behind his back and strolled forward casually as if he were
approaching her in a park where she'd found a nice wooden bench by the pondside rather than
inside the belly of the metal monster that was the facility. Rose did nothing as he approached
but rather seemed to curl in on herself even more and stare emotionlessly, almost glaringly,
up at him. When he stopped in front of her, her eyes quickly flitted around the room as if
looking for an escape route before they settled on him once again, apparently realizing there
was none. The Doctor pretended not to notice.

"Dame Tyler," He began in a fake posh accent that would have made Rose giggle on any
normal day in the TARDIS. Now, however, she just frowned at him. "We really must stop
meeting in this manner. You must give me warning next time so that I might change out of
these dreary rags. May I?" He asked in his usual voice, indicting towards the seat next to her.
She didn't move her gaze from him as she answered plainly and simply,

"No."

"Oh." The Doctor tried not to sound completely crestfallen. His face couldn't quite hide the
deflated shadow that crossed it, however. He shrugged one shoulder instead and smiled
weakly. "No matter, the ground looks pretty comfy anyway."

He plopped down a few feet in front of her, much to Rose's surprise, and sighed heavily. He
hung his head and stared dejectedly at his fingers, defeat evident in the slight angle of his
shoulders. He didn't try speaking again, knowing it would get him nowhere. Humans were
like spookish horses when nervous; sometimes the only thing you could do was stand there
with the peace offering of a carrot and wait for them to come to you. Unfortunately, the
Doctor did not have any carrots, although, of course, now he was craving one. Or any kind of
vegetable, really.

Rose was the first to speak after an agonizingly long silence.

"He told me he'd keep you away from me."

The Doctor flinched at the dull, monotonous tone of her voice. It was completely hollow. He
felt a flicker of anger rise inside his chest. "He being your keeper?"

Rose nodded slowly. Unlike the Doctor, she couldn't seem to keep her eyes off his face,
watching for any untrustworthy movement. The Doctor's eyes, however, hovered somewhere
around her ankles as she sat above him on the bench. He wanted to sit up there next to her,
but guilt held him down on the floor like gravity. Guilt for something he didn't even do, for
the most part.

"And…" The Doctor swallowed thickly. "Do you want him to keep me away?"

He chanced a glance as Rose's face just fast enough to see uncertainty flash across it. Good.
Good start.

"I don't…I don't know." She answered with a little bit more resonance in her voice. "After
what you did –"

The Doctor's eyebrows darted downwards in a frown. "What I did? What did I – ohhh." The
Doctor sat back on his ankles as the realization hit him, mouth making a comical 'o' shape as
he glanced up at the giant window glaring oppressively down at them. He felt like an insect
under a microscope. Quickly, he changed his question, still not looking at Rose. "What did
he tell you I did?"

He noticed her eyes narrow in puzzlement. "He…he told me exactly what happened. What
you – what you tried to…" Her voice tapered off as she saw the confusion and concern in the
Time Lord's face.

"Did he tell you I hurt you?" An hour long second passed before Rose began to nod again.
The Doctor sighed again. "And you believe him?"

"I – I – There were bruises – and – you – I remember you – seeing you…"

"Rose…" On impulse he scooted forward, grabbing for one of her hands resting idly on her
drawn knees. She snatched it away from him though and held it close to her chest as if afraid
he would steal it from her entirely. The Doctor sighed dolefully. "Rose, please?" He held his
hand out as if offering the horse the carrot, waiting for it to come to him. After a pause, Rose
hesitantly released her hold on her own hand and carefully stretched it out to lie lightly across
the Doctor's.

He smiled at her reassuringly. "Thank you." He exhaled softly as he gently wrapped his
fingers around her hand. He felt her flinch slightly but kept his hold, squeezing tenderly until
she relaxed into his familiar touch. He circled his thumb over her bare knuckles as he slowly
lifted their hands. When they were almost eye-level with the Doctor he leaned forward and,
even as Rose tensed once again, pressed his lips lightly to her skin. He inhaled deeply
through his nose and almost cringed as he caught the scent running through her veins. The
same something he had smelled in his own water these passed few weeks.

He finally let out the breath he'd been holding as his shoulders sank down a few more inches.
He replaced Rose's hand on her own knee, not wanting her to feel anymore uncomfortable
than she already was. But now she wasn't watching him cautiously, but rather curiously.

"What was all that about?" She asked when he sank back onto his ankles again.

The Doctor ran a hand through his hair again, eliciting a soft groan of annoyance. He started
again after a short pause, "Rose, the last time I saw you…was the first time since we got here.
And you were drugged, drugged out of your little human mind. And I heard your keeper
talking about some kind of dosage testing and that you were the trial subject."

An adorable wrinkle formed above the bridge of Rose's nose as she frowned. The Doctor
tried to ignore it, but it was like it was staring at him, mocking him. Oh, how he'd missed that
wrinkle. And the way her tongue stuck out between her teeth when she smiled. When was the
last time she'd smiled? Really, truly, properly smiled? The Doctor quickly shook his head to
interrupt that train of thought. It would get him no where. And she was still frowning at him,
no doubt trying to understand where he was attempting to go with this. "Do you remember
any of that?" He sighed.

"I remember seeing you," She started slowly, biting at her lower lip as she tried to think back.
"But…I don't remember seeing you. I mean, I saw you, but…not what I saw…I just…oh,
shut up." She grumbled as she noticed the Doctor was smiling despite himself. Even she
seemed to be forcing back a reluctant smile. "What are you so happy about, eh? Happy your
attack left me with amnesia?"

His smile instantly fell. "Rose, I didn't attack you. I would never, could never, do that to you,
and you know that. You're my Rose and I love you. But that's what he told you, wasn't it?
That I attacked you?"

Rose nodded again. At her affirmation, something suddenly went off inside the Doctor,
something like an exploding balloon. He suddenly jumped to his feet, startling Rose and not
even noticing it, as he spun around to glare up at the window, a bizarre smile now on his lips
as if he'd finally figured out the solution to some troublesome joke. "Oh, ho, ho, that's clever.
Horribly clever, you stupid, slimy bastards." He hissed up to the window. Rose almost
laughed at his words, never really hearing the Doctor curse much. He heard her chokingly
swallow the laugh and resisted smiling even wider at the fact that he had almost made her
laugh again. Instead he plopped down on the bench beside her and pretended he hadn't heard.
She seemed to lean away from him, but he hardly noticed as he drew his knees up to imitate
her, drumming his fingers along his kneecaps. "I thought that's what could be going on. I
mean, that's the only explanation for how I've been feeling lately. Oh, you smart Dr. Vadim.
It's horrible, of course, absolutely unacceptable, I'll have to do something about it once we're
out of here; but blimey, that's inventive. Light-years ahead of this quadrant's scientific
abili…"

"Doctor!"

The Doctor snapped out of his one-hundred-miles-per-hour monologue to see Rose glaring at
him. "Care to explain whatchor going on about?" She grumbled.

The Doctor smiled at her sheepishly. At least that grumble was the same as ever, dragging
him out of his usual ramblings like an anchor. Maybe his ramblings, in return, were her
anchor? She was looking at him now with large brown eyes no longer filled with fear but
once again that small glint of curiosity. "Oh, right, sorry. It's been bothering me for weeks
now, but it seems you just proved my theory. Thanks…I think."

"Well you're welcome…I think." She mocked him, but her voice sounded exasperated. "And
what exactly is this theory and will I be getting any scientific credit for helping?"

The Doctor snorted. "After claiming responsibility for discovering the cure for the common
cold and knocking poor old Dr. Coit off the Nobel Prize trophy, I think we're done taking
credit for things for a while." At the memory Rose did smile slightly.

"He deserved it for pouring all that wine on my white shoes." She pouted jokingly.

They both began laughing at this shakily before Rose quickly silenced herself. She started
gnawing on her lower lip pensively, watching the Doctor with uncertain eyes. "Why did you
kiss my hand?" She questioned suddenly.

"I wasn't kissing your hand," The Doctor admitted. "I was smelling your blood. There are
drugs running through you system right now."

Rose blanched. "Drugs? But, I haven't…They didn't give me anything. Not that I
remember…"

"And yet you're still convinced that everything they told you about me is true, despite your
own memory." The Doctor countered easily. He watched Rose carefully as she tried to
process this information.

"But, I don't understand," She finally croaked out. "I've been drugged this whole time to think
you're…evil or something?"

The Doctor rocked back so his back pressed against the hard wall. "Not necessarily that,
exactly. If I'm correct – and let's be honest, I usually am – the drug works as a sort of
neurological dampener that reduces the ability to properly perceive reality when a convincing
alternative suggestion is presented. I think it works to override the coding in the various
sensory areas of the cortex connecting the hippocampus to the limbic system-"

"Stop, stop, stop." Rose interrupted, hands held up in front of her as if she were physically
attempting to stop him. "Okay, now try again, only this time try it in English, will you?"

The Doctor laughed softly. "They're manipulating you. I don't know how, but they're using
some sort of drug that overrides the memory and reasoning centers of your brain. It convinces
your mind that whatever you are told is the real truth."

"How do you know this?" Rose frowned. "It's all very science fiction-y, isn't it."

The Doctor stared at her for a moment as if in blank disbelief. "…Rose, you've been in a
spaceship shaped like a box that's bigger on the inside that can travel through time and space
with a nine hundred year old alien and nowyou're concerned with things sounding too much
like science fiction?"
A small laugh bubbled up past Rose's lips as she shrugged sheepishly, looking away as she
bit her lower lip again. The Doctor laughed at her awkwardness and continued. "And I know
this because they're doing the same thing to me. And possibly everyone else in this place. I
can taste it in the water. Can't you?"

"No, sorry, my inferior human senses are not quite as advances as your fantastic Tim–" Rose
went to joke, but the Doctor suddenly clapped his hand over her mouth, shushing her
immediately. Fear jumped back into her brown eyes, which were just starting to relax as their
familiar banter wore on, as her body tensed and she instantly tried to shift away from the
Time Lord. But the Doctor's other hand gently pressed against her lower back, keeping her
close and stopping her from backing away. He glanced around quickly, suspiciously, shooting
glances at the other slaves closest by before his intense eyes drifted upwards towards the
oppressing window again.

He turned back to Rose and with a meaningful look asked silently if she would remain silent
if he released her. She nodded minutely and the Doctor withdrew the hand covering her
mouth, but his other hand remained, drawing comforting circles on the small of her back,
reassuring her that he meant not harm. Rose cleared her throat and, in a quieter voice, asked
in surprise, "They still don't know what you are?"

The Doctor shook his head as he glimpsed over at the steel door. Still shut, no sign of
eavesdroppers. "Bachir – my keeper – is still trying to get it out of me," A hint of past pain
graced his words that Rose couldn't miss. "And I think I remember them saying something
about sending my DNA results to HQ for further classification, but I don't think their systems
are advanced enough to include….my people…in it."

"What happens if they find out?" Rose asked nervously. The Doctor shrugged.

"Nothing good. Bachir already wants to send me off to the Drephesh National Science Board
to go live out the rest of my days in some laboratory. An advancement-crazed race plus a
heightened need for vengeance probably shouldn't go hand-in-hand."

"No, probably not." Rose agreed quietly. Her eyes had drifted down into her lap where her
fingers were twisting around each other anxiously, a habit she had picked up since arriving in
this place. "And what have they been telling you?"

The Doctor crinkled his nose. "To be obedient." He answered and then flashed her a devilish
smile. "It's not really working out for them."

"I can imagine." She laughed in return. The Doctor's hearts nearly leapt out of his chest as he
saw the very tip of her tongue poking out from between her teeth as she did so. There was his
Rose. "You? Submissive? Can they even get you to shut up long enough to give you an
order?" The Doctor forced a smile and quickly bowed his head.

"It's not for lack of trying." He compelled a small laugh to lighten the comment. Rose,
however, didn't seem to have noticed or even heard him say anything. She went to cover her
mouth as a huge yawn assaulted her, but halfway through her face contorted into a grimace.
The yawn ended in a soft whine, like the sound an injured animal might make, and she folded
over to press her head between her hands.
"Rose? Rose, what's wrong?" Concern burst through the Doctor as he saw her shoulders
begin to shake ever so slightly. He moved closer to her side, placing a comforting yet hesitant
arm around her frame. He still wasn't sure how comfortable she was with him, even though
she seemed to be acting more like her old self now. The human girl just shook her head – or
rather shook her entire upper body, cringing as the movement reached her head.

"Just…just a headache." She managed to gasp through pain. It seemed to pass as she lifted
her head slightly, still staring at the ground. "I haven't slept in a while. I always used to get
migraines when I didn't get enough sleep." She paused massaging her temples when her eyes
caught the sudden glint of something silver on the Doctor's slightly exposed leg. "What's
that?" Rose suddenly asked.

The Doctor quickly shifted over, attempting unsuccessfully to cover the metal band on his
right ankle discretely. "You should try to get some sleep." He stated instead of answering her
question. "Who knows if you'll be able to get rest after this, and we're just sitting around
anyway."

Rose just shook her head again. "The auction should start soon, I shouldn't be asleep."

"You've been to one of these before?"

"You haven't?"

"No…still in training…"

Rose laughed. "You stubborn git."

"Yep, that's me. They're not going to be able to change all of us. Now will you please go to
sleep? You look exhausted." It was true. Now that she was no longer glaring at him
untrustingly, the Doctor could see the dark smudges beneath her eyes and how they drooped
slightly as if fighting to stay open. Her skin was even a sickly pale tone that clashing
drastically with her vibrant blonde locks. She honestly did look as if she hadn't slept in days,
making the Doctor feel unreasonably guilty for getting a full night's sleep the night before.
She also looked like she was on the verge of arguing against it so he quickly shushed her. "I
heard the guards saying the …buyer," He choked over the word in disgust. "isn't going to be
here for a while. Don't worry, I'll watch over you and wake you up when the…buyer gets
here."

Once again Rose looked as if she were about to oppose but then another large yawn
interrupted her and she found herself leaning heavily against the Doctor as the strength of it
wrecked through her. He wrapped his arm around her, pulling her close so she was propped
again his side and shoulder. She had to admit that the Doctor was far more comfortable than
the grated flooring of her own cage and the warmth and security she had always associated
with the time traveling adventurer seemed to be enveloping her right then and there, coaxing
her eyes closed. She let out a sigh as he squeezed her shoulders reassuringly, a small smile
twitching at the corners of her mouth.

The Doctor felt her nearly melt into him, heard her soft, relaxed sigh. He bent down and
pressed his lips to the top of her hair before guiding them both around so she could lie down
across the bench with her head resting on his leg as a pillow. She hummed something the
Doctor couldn't quite hear and her eyes flickered open slightly. "Sleep." The Doctor
commanded softly as he began to run his hands through her hair. That was when he noticed
she was still shaking.

"D-Doctor?" Her voice sounded quiet and hesitant, almost child-like as she confessed, "I'm…
I'm scared…to sleep. I don't want…the nightmares…."

"Shhhhh….It's okay, Rose. I'm here. No matter what they tell you, I will always be here to
watch over you."

After a moment of relaxed silence he heard her speak again, as if sleep talking, "You said you
love me…"

The Doctor didn't stop his soothing caress as he watched her fall further and further into the
embrace of sleep. "Of course I love you, Rose." He whispered back as if it were the most
obvious thing in the universe.

He couldn't tell if she'd heard him as her breathing had already deepened. She shifted further
into his touch as his fingers continued to play with her locks and she seemed to have fallen
asleep almost instantly to the comforting feeling. The Doctor glanced up, remembering for
the first time since seeing Rose that they were not alone in the large auction room. No one
seemed to pay the pair any heed except for one pair of large black eyes that watched him
from across the room. The Doctor smiled at them, feeling for once real, true joy fueling the
action. It was the Doctor and Rose again, just like it should always be.

Lalay nodded back to him in recognition before withdrawing back inside herself, just like
every other lonely soul in the room. Every soul, except for two.
 Chapter 25

An hour and a half passed since Rose finally fell into a light sleep, two hours since they had
all been thrown into the giant metal room. The large observation window hung over them,
blank and ominous, and even though the Doctor couldn't see through it from the angle it
jutted out from the wall, he could tell it was still empty.

Two or three times towards the beginning of her nap, the Doctor would hear Rose's breath
become shorter, shallower, see her brow crease with worry and hear a small whimper or two
escape her lips, but she was quickly quieted as the Doctor continued to run his fingers softly
through her hair. Very soon her features would relax once more and she would again fall into
a peaceful sleep. But the Doctor never once stopped stroking her hair, just in case.

Minutes ticked on but the Doctor was thoroughly content with just sitting there with Rose
asleep in his lap. He himself didn't even feel remotely tired, thanks to his first full-night's
sleep the night before, but his stomach was once again beginning to protest against his forced
fast. He could sense the rest of the slaves crowded into the auction room starting to become
restless, nervous and anxious as to why the auction was being delayed and when they would
be dragged out and sent back to work. But despite the harsh metal of the bench beneath him
and the wall behind him, the Doctor was perfectly comfortable with staying there for hours,
days, even, if he could. He was in no rush to return to his training and be torn away from
Rose again.

There's no way either of them would be sold that day. Or, at least, that's what the Doctor kept
trying to convince himself. In all honesty there was only a relatively good chance they would
not be sold. The odds in favor of one of them being chosen was two to forty-one, a 4.65
percent chance since there were forty-three others in the mix as well. However, the Doctor
thought worriedly, someone with the title 'prebassador' combined with the way in which the
keepers and employees kept talking about them sounded rather stately and respectable – for
this society, at least – and the chances of anyone choosing a Slitheen anyway was half that of
anyone else in the room, and the prospects of someone like that buying an Ood, who were
primarily sold to labor and exploratory camps in this culture, was only a third. Therefore,
bringing into account the two Ood and the Slitheen, there was now a 10.05 percent chance of
them being sold. And since females were generally more likely to be chosen…

The Doctor had to stop himself from calculating all the numbers and probabilities bouncing
around in his head because it was just becoming too dire. He looked around at the down-
trodden and defeated faces surrounding him and immediately felt guilty for turning them into
numbers and percentages, depersonalizing them in just the same way Eyal had by tattooing
those numbers to their wrists. He should not be putting them up against himself and Rose,
competing against them. He should be helping them.

But what could he do? Lalay had been right, he was just as stuck as they were. Maybe if he
could get away from the facility, he could work from the outside to bring it down and return
all these stolen aliens to their rightful homes. But the only way out was to be sold, and he
would not leave Rose there alone, even if on that ten percent chance he would be chosen.
His fingers began to twirl a bit of Rose's hair into a complicated braid using five small
sections, a traditional braid of the ancient Gallifreyans representing the five dimensions
interwoven together. So subconscious was the action that he was actually surprised when he
reached the end of her hair. He stared at the plait for a while, thinking. The ancient
Gallifreyans used to own slaves, a long, long time ago, but when Rassilon came along and
organized them all together he had outlawed the trade and trafficking of another sentient
being. It all seemed to make so much sense that the Doctor simply couldn't understand how a
society could possibly deem it acceptable.

He was broken out of his thoughts as something happened. A sudden change in the
atmosphere, a new presence upon them. The Doctor glanced up quickly at the window and
just like before could not see through it, but he could feel through it. Someone or someones
were up there now. The auction had started.

He returned his attention to Rose as she shifted in her sleep. Should he wake her up? She had
asked him to once the auction began, but she just looked so peaceful and childlike as she
slept, the terror and torment of the last few weeks gone from her features. She needed her
rest, and also the Doctor couldn't help but think there would be less chance of her being
noticed if she remained how she was. Being sold and leaving Rose behind was far from an
ideal situation, but Rose being sold and leaving him behind was even worse. How would he
be able to find her if he ever got out. How would he know she was safe?

And yet her trust in him had only just been reestablished, and he didn't want to do anything to
go against it so soon, and so he followed her wishes. Using his thumb to brush across her
cheek, the Doctor whispered, "Rose. Rose, it's time to wake up."

Rose moaned softly and rolled away from him, pressing the side of her nose into his knee.
The Doctor was only just able to keep her from rolling off the bench all together. Chuckling
softly to himself, he tried again. "Come on, Rose, up and at 'em, rise and shine, wake up and
smell the coffee."

"Coffee…" Rose sighed longingly. "Tea?"

"I'll buy you a cuppa once we get out of here, but come on, the auction just started."

That got her eyes open pretty quickly. Her brown eyes flitted sporadically across the ceiling
of the auction room before they settled on the Doctor's face and she smiled lightly.
"Morning." She managed through a small yawn.

The Doctor smiled back. "Morning, yourself. Sleep well?" Rose shrugged one-sidedly.

"Better than I have been. You said the auction started?"

"I think so, yeah. No one's been sold yet. I'm sorry I woke you, but you asked – "

"It's fine." Rose made no move to sit up, apparently perfectly comfortable with staying laying
down on the Doctor's lap. The Doctor had no complaints about this except for the fact that his
leg had decided at some point to take a nap all on its own and was only now waking back up,
sending spikes of light pins-and-needles up and down his leg. He hadn't even noticed it had
fallen asleep.

In the short, comfortable silence that fell between them as Rose closed her eyes again, the
Doctor's stomach decided to add to the conversation. Rose giggled as it growled in her ear.
"Hungry much?" She teased. The Doctor shrugged.

"Just a little bit. Haven't eaten anything much more than a roll of bread in the last four or five
days, so the hunger's starting to catch up with me a bit."

Rose's eyes flew open again at that statement. "Four or five days?" She blanched. "How does
that even happen? What did you do to deserve that?"

"Nothing!" The Doctor replied a little too innocently. "I just might have attacked your keeper
a little bit after you passed out from the drugs, that's all."

"No wonder he's got it in for you. Are you alright though?"

"Yeah, I'm fine. Had worse, will have worse, I'm sure." He answered flippantly.

"Any nausea, dizziness, black spots…?" Rose asked in a mockingly professional voice. The
Doctor nudged her in the arm as she started giggling again.

"Hey, I'm supposed to be the doctor here!" He pouted as she continued to laugh. Rassilon,
that was a musical sound. Who knew humans could make such gorgeous noise?

A far less pleasant noise rent the air, stifling Rose's and the Doctor's giggles at once. The door
to the auction room had been thrown open and three guards appeared. Rose sat up instantly,
slinking almost unnoticeably closer to the Doctor's side. Two of the guards entered while the
other one stayed by the door, glaring down any of the slaves who dared even look in the
direction of the exit. The Doctor felt his hearts freeze mid-beat as he noticed the two guards
were walking right towards where he and Rose were sitting. In one movement the Doctor
wrapped his arm in front of Rose's chest, both shielding her and pulling her closer at the same
time.

One of the guards pointed roughly at the Doctor. "MD196305, yer coming with us."

The Doctor stood up quickly, stepping in front of Rose almost subconsciously. "Oh yeah?
Why?" He knew perfectly well why, but he growled it nonetheless. This wasn't…he wouldn't
be…this couldn't really be happening. Five percent chance, that was it. Was he really
being…?

"Predassador's thinking about buying your pathetic bag of bones and skin." The guard snarl
back, looking the Doctor up and down as he approached him, seeming unimpressed. "Can't
see why, but…"

"You can't have 'im!" Rose suddenly shouted as she jumped to her feet. The Doctor turned
just enough to see fear traced, once again, into her features. She grabbed his arm as if her
grasp would be enough to keep him there. "Go tell your prebassador to shove it!"
The smack came so quickly the Doctor hadn't even noticed it until he heard the sharp sound
of knuckles striking flesh and Rose crying out in pain. An animalistic growl rumbled out of
his throat as he launched himself at the guard who smacked Rose, tossing him backwards into
the other guard, who stumbled with surprise under the sudden weight of his comrade.

The Doctor spun around to see Rose cupping her check, eyes alit with unshed tears. He
reached up and ran his thumb over his reddened cheek, breath hitching in his throat as he
managed to choke out, "It's going to be okay, Rose. I promise. I'll get you –"

He was cut off as he was suddenly grabbed roughly by the arms, the two guards dragging him
backwards. The guard who had been stationed at the door had joined them and was
approaching Rose, gripping her shoulders and applying enough pressure that her knees
buckled beneath her. Instincts flared inside him again. They were hurting her. They were
going to keep hurting her. He wasn't there to protect her.

He writhed against the hands dragging him back, bucking and wrenching where he could. He
had to get back to her, to say goodbye at least. He thrashed again and by some miracle
managed to wiggle his way out of their grasp. He jumped forward, tripping over his own feet
in his haste, but it didn't matter. He crashed to his knees right in front of his companion and
didn't waste a moment. His hands moved to cup her face, finger brushing away a scared and
frustrated tear, and before he could even think about what he was doing he was ducking his
head, lips angled for hers, and pulled her into a deep, passionate kiss he had not known he'd
been craving until that very moment, when suddenly he wondered how he'd lived without the
closeness of Rose, the taste of her lips against his as they were in their bitter farewell.

The kiss ended far too soon. He felt hands encircling his arms again, vice-like, and was
jerked away from her again. "No." He heard Rose whisper breathlessly, part stunned and part
scared. He was scared too. Something cold and hard had found it's way around one of his
wrists and was making it's way around the other, pinning his hands together. The guards
continued to pull him, stumbling, backwards with them towards the door.

"NO!" Rose suddenly shouted, trying to stand up against the grip of the guard holding her
down, but he was too strong and shoved her back onto the metal floor. Tears were spilling
freely down her face now as she watched the Doctor being hauled away from her. He was
almost to the door now. Almost gone. "DOCTOR!"

The Doctor didn't take her sorrowful eyes off her until he was thrown through the door, the
metal ringing as it was slammed shut behind them. Somewhere in his mind he was aware of
Bachir shouting angrily, but he couldn't tell if it was at him or at someone else. It hardly
mattered. A numbness had crept over the Doctor. He was being sold. He was being sold as a
slave to a stranger. He was being sold as a slave to a stranger who was separating him from
his Rose.

He barely noticed as the metal cuffs were tightened around his wrists and a gag was secured
over his mouth. He wouldn't be able to speak anyway, he was too afraid he would vomit
instead. What happened now? Where was he going? Would he ever see Rose again…?

A shove between the shoulder blades snapped him out of it. He shook his head slightly,
annoyed at how the gag forced him to breath through his nose, which had been broken the
night before and was still healing. He couldn't think like that, he chastised himself. There's a
silver lining on every black hole, he tried to remind himself as he was escorted roughly out of
the room by a posse of four guards. It might be easier to escape his new…owner – he gagged
at the word – than it would be to escape this place, and then he could get to work on rescuing
Rose and the rest of the unfortunate aliens from the outside. It's more like a gray lining, he
thought with a wince as he realized how many ifs and maybes there were in that loose plan,
not to mention the fact that he had no idea how long it would take him and for how long he'd
be away from Rose. But it was the best he could come up with right then to keep the shock
and tears of frustration at bay.

He was led up another flight of stairs, these at least adorn with a nice carpet that felt
unbelievable pleasant on his bare feet. He schooled his features into a mask that appeared
neither scared nor angry nor even defeated. Just a dash of defiance in his eyes finished off the
look as the door before his was pulled open and he was ushered into the new room.

He almost froze in his tracks, the mask nearly slipping off. The room was quite large with a
comfortable low ceiling, deep red carpet, and wood paneled walls on three sides. A few Eyal
employees occupied the room as well as an older Drephesh in a suit and a young man with
light charcoal gray skin and silver hair that stuck out in all directions in a stylishly windswept
way. His buyer, he guessed.

The guards pushed the Doctor forward and kicked out the back of his leg, sending him to his
knees. The soft carpet caught him, so it was not too uncomfortable.

The man with the gray skin – the prebassador – had been watching him closely with a curious
eye before glancing over at the Drephesh in the suit, one eyebrow quirked at the Doctor's gag.
The Drephesh chuckled good-naturedly.

"Company policy." He explained simply. "Especially this one gets a bit mouthy around
authority"

The Doctor couldn't help it as he rolled his eyes. The buyer turned back to him in time to
catch the eye roll and the Doctor made the distinct intention of looking him squarely in the
eyes, which were light gray, a few shades darker than the whites of his eyes and a few shades
lighter than his skin. He did not see Bachir in the way the buyer stared back at him, nor did
he see Blondie or Rat-Face. He saw something else, but he wasn't entirely sure what. The
buyer watched him closely with the same curious intensity he had before, as if trying to see
straight through him and being stopped quite suddenly and impolitely just on the surface.

And suddenly the Doctor noticed the forth wall, which was not covered in dark wood
paneling. The forth wall was completely made out of glass, creating a window jutting out
diagonally from the wall. It was the observation window. And not too far below he could see
the other slaves in the stock room, each looking a little less anxious than before, except for
one person. The Doctor felt the burn of tears threatening as he watched the guard toss Rose
aside as if she were nothing and walk away. Rose landed on her hands and knees, shoulders
shaking as she sobbed all by herself. He felt both his hearts break a little at the sight, knowing
he was not able to comfort her and would not be able to for a long time.
A blue skinned girl slowly made her way over to Rose. The Doctor almost laughed despite
himself as Lalay cautiously bent down beside the sobbing human and wrapped a hesitant arm
around her, drawing Rose into a comforting embrace. At least she had Lalay, for now, while
he couldn't be there. His appreciation for the Aonian soared ten-fold at the sight. He forced
away the tears that were threatening to spill over and tore his gaze from the window. The
longer he watched her the harder it was going to be to go through with his plan.

"His designation is MD196305, but if you decide to go through with the deal you may call
him whatever you like, of course."

"Do I have to decide right now?" The buyer asked without taking his eyes off the Doctor. The
Doctor was surprised to hear him speak with a slight accent, as Drephesh was clearly not his
native language. He didn't think these beings were capable of coexisting with other life-forms
enough to agree to exchange goods and slaves.

"Of course not." The Drephesh was saying. "We have a twenty-four hour policy in which you
can make your decision before the stock's put back on the market. You cannot take him out
with you during that time, but you are more than welcome to stay here and get yourself
acquainted. We have some lovely guestrooms on the upper levels if you'd be interested."

"Yes, that would be fantastic, thank you."

"Would you like him brought to your room as well, or taken to another holding room in the
meantime?"

There was a pause as the man was clearly thinking it over, his eyes glued to the Doctor's as if
in a trance. Good, good start…

"Yes, my room, please." The Doctor didn't let the flutter of fear he felt at those words make
its way into his mask. The guestrooms? Why was this man having him brought to his room?
Unless he was…? The Doctor swallowed lightly and continued to glare up at the buyer with
what he hoped was a look of calm defiance. Don't let him see how anxious you are.

The Doctor was suddenly dragged back to his feet and hauled carelessly out of the room. He
didn't protest, didn't even attempt to struggle or put up a fight. He just continued to stare
intensely at the buyer, already feeling unease and uncertainty creeping into the man's
thoughts.

The door snapped shut behind him and he was ushered back down the stairs and through a
new hallway lit with lamps and carpeted much like the observation room. The guards all
snickered around him as they shoved him down a different hall, and then another. The Doctor
didn't even bother trying to remember each of the turns they took. The numbness had taken
over him again now that he no longer had a tangible source to focus on. Except for the same
thoughts that had been tumbling around his head throughout the whole encounter. He was a
slave. He was a slave being sold to a stranger. He was a slave being sold to a stranger who
had asked for the Time Lord to be taken to his guestroom. Taken to his guestroom in order to
get acquainted with him.
The Doctor shuddered as they reached a nice wooden door, the guards laughing cruelly on all
sides of him, as the door was pushed open. The Doctor swallowed heavily. This was it.
Would it be worth it?
 Chapter 26

It was by some small miracle that Ren had decided that that night would be a good night to
leave. Had he not been so busy preparing a short-range shuttle that would take him to
Lacapit, in fact, his blood would already be seeping into the thin carpet of his office floor.

He knew the men were up to something. He could hear them whispering to each other in the
mess hall, notice how they gathered 'secretly' in their barracks, see the way they quickly
stepped apart and got back to work whenever he would appear around the corner and glared
as they saluted. Ren was not dumb. He knew what was coming. He knew the signs of a
mutiny in the works.

But still, the sounds of gunshots ringing out the shattered window of his old office made the
human jump, shivers running up and down his spine and causing the hairs on the nape of his
neck to stand on end. Hurriedly he dashed over to the small overhang that acted as a loading
dock for the larger cargo ship, running in a half crouch, and drew a blaster from his belt. The
alien weapon now felt comfortable and familiar in his hand, but he still prayed he would not
have to use it. Everything would be better if he could fly out of there without anyone being
any the wiser, get to Lacapit, and find a flight that would take him to the closest port he could
get to Earth. It would still be galaxies and lightyears away from any solar system the humans
had yet to discover, but it was the best option he had. Unless, of course, the Doctor had been
honest with him and was able to keep well to his promise to be able to get him home.

But the Doctor was in Eyal already. As was Rose, the first human Ren had seen in ten years.
Seeing her had sparked a homesickness he had not felt in nearly a decade, creating such a
longing to return to the blue and green planet that he almost felt physically nauseous. She
was so very human, that Rose. Her pale skin, brown eyes, blonde hair. She reminded him far
too much of…

Access Denied. The screen flashed at him for a third time. Ren growled and pulled his thumb
away from the scanner. Why wasn't his access code working? He should have the master
code to every keypad. He needed to get in in order to unlock the security controls on the
shuttle. Without them off the ship with never be able to take off.

Ren spun around suddenly at the sound of a door swinging shut behind him. He squared off
his shoulders and raised his gun just as the new arrival did the same.

"I thought you might try to sneak off." Drawled Rat-Face as he leveled his own blaster with
the captain's chest. He looked far too smug, smirking at Ren with his horribly thin lips as if
he were the possessor of something Ren so desperately needed. Ren grimaced as he clicked
the safety off his gun. "Bit of a coward's move, don't you think, captain."

Ren quirked an eyebrow at the taunt. "Me? A coward? That's rich coming from the man who
raped an innocent, helpless woman."

"She was a slave." Rat-Face sneered carelessly. "Hardly counts as a woman. Besides, you go
to have your fun with her, why couldn't the rest of us?" Ren didn't say anything. He kept his
glare even with Rat-Face's, everything tinted orange behind his contacts. Then suddenly Rat-
Face was laughing. "Oh, but you didn't, did you? Got all doughy-eyed when she stumbled
through our door, did you? Did you fall in love, captain?"

"What do you want?" Ren asked tersely. He was growing tired of Rat-Face's pitchy voice.

"I want you to answer for your crimes." Spat Rat-Face.

"My crimes? Of what, not raping the human girl? I wasn't aware rape and torture were part of
our ordinance."

"No!" Rat-Face growled, taking a hasty step forward. "For treating us like slaves, forcing us
to do slave work in the mines. Murdering Crvas in cold blood. We are Drephesh, living
beings!"

"As was Rose." Ren shot back. "As was the Doctor. Living beings just like you and I, but that
didn't stop you and Crvas from torturing him either, did it?"

"This isn't about that alien scum anymore. It's about you stepping down from your post with a
bullet between your eyes."

Ren frowned with mock sympathy. "You were never a very good shot, you know that. Why
do you think I've been keeping you on base and off missions this whole time? You really
think you can get off a round before I can?" Ren almost laughed at how much this suddenly
sounded like the showdown at the OK Corral.

"I know I'm a bad shot!" Rat-Face snapped back viciously. "But it doesn't even matter if I
bring you down now or not, you're never getting that shuttle's security down."

Ren felt dread fill his chest. "You iced out my access." He realized with a pang of panic.
Without a valid print, not only could he not unlock the security on the shuttle, but he would
never be able to get a seat on any ship off planet. He wouldn't even be able to purchase a bag
of peanuts. A finger print wasn't just for identification, it was his entire existence in this
society.

But even in his stunned stupor, Ren could still see Rat-Face cock the hammer on his gun and
begin to take aim. He acted impulsively.

BANG!

Rat-Face screamed in pain as the laser-tipped bullet ripped through his kneecap. He dropped
like a rock, curling in and clutching his already blood-soaked leg. Over his cursing and
hysterics, Ren heard the radio on Rat-Face's belt cackle to life and the voice of one of the
men he knew was involved in planning the mutiny. "What was that? We just heard a gunshot
and screaming. Have you got him? What's your position?"

Ren snatched the radio off Rat-Face's hip and chucked it over the edge of the open-aired
shuttle launch pad. Rat-Face was still shouting and cursing in Drephesh. Ren needed to shut
him up before someone else heard them and came looking.
He raised the gun again, aiming at Rat-Face, and suddenly all the pain and anger melted off
the rodent's face, replaced with sheer and total terror. "N-n-n-n-no, please! I'm sorry! I'm s-s-
sorry! I'll do anything, p-please."

Ren gave a disgusted sneer. "Who's the coward now?" With a flick of his wrist he flipped the
gun around and rammed the butt of it into Rat-Face's temple. He was knocked out instantly.

With great effort, Ren replaced the blaster back in its holster. He really wanted to shoot him.
Really, really badly. But instead he grabbed Rat-Face's wrist and dragged his dead weight
over to the door. Ren's print access may have been iced, but Rat-Face's surely wouldn't be. If
anything his priority level would have been heightened due to his involvement in the
uprising. It would have been so much easier to just kill Rat-Face or cut off his thumb, but the
print needed to be live, and the scanner could detect a pulse beneath the skin.

And sure enough, the door swung open to Rat-Face's touch. Sure that his services would be
needed again, Ren bent down and pulled the Drephesh over his shoulder fireman style and
hurried into the flight control room.

The password for the shuttle launch system had mercifully not been tampered with, and soon
enough the screen was beeping that he was clear for takeoff. He hurried back to the shuttle,
staggering under the weigh of Rat-Face's limp body. Ren could feel warm, sticky blood
dripping down his side from Rat-Face's leg. He threw the Drephesh on board and secured him
with a pair of handcuffs he still had on his utility belt before dashing away to get the shuttle
off the ground. His heart beat was pounding in his ears as he saw a large majority of what
used to be his men turn and take aim at the ship with their blasters. Their bullets didn't even
reach the hull.

Once the shuttle was in the air, Ren set it on cruise and stood from the pilot's chair. Now that
his adrenaline had faded away the direness of the situation began to stand out to him. He had
no where to go; not back to the outpost, certainly his access wouldn't allow him into the city,
and this shuttle was only designed and equipped for short-range flights

He only had one option. It was daft and stupid and foolish and would most likely get more
than just himself killed, but he was out of all other ideas. He set the autopilot coordinates to a
spot out in the middle of the desert where his men had encountered and captured the most
recent batch of native Drepheshie slaves as well as two mysteries. As the ship turned around,
Ren returned his attention to Rat-Face's unconscious form, slumped on the ground. He pulled
a switchblade from his belt and prayed that God was still rooting for him, even after all this
time.

"What do you say, should we warm the pretty thing up?"

One of the guards taunted as he tossed the Doctor against the bed. Arms still pinned behind
his back, gag still in place, the Doctor could do nothing as the backs of his knees hit the edge
of the mattress and he collapsed backwards into the deep duvet. His back arched up from
where his hands were pressed between the bed and his spine.
The guard that had spoken before grabbed the Doctor's hips and yanked him harshly towards
the edge of the bed so his body slid over the smooth covers, straddling his legs. Terror
overpowered resolve to flood his mind as the Doctor struck out with the only free appendage
he still have, his first choice weapon still caged behind the gag.

The guard dodged his foot easily enough and started laughing. "Pretty thing's got a nasty
side." The other three snickered. "Keep acting like that and people will start to think you
don't want this, little whore."

I don't want this! The Doctor protested silently. He didn't like this guard calling him pretty
and he certainly didn't like being called a whore. If this is what he would have to go through
with the Prebassador in order to get out and rescue Rose, so be it, he could tolerate that. But
like hell he was going to allow one of the guards to have his way with him as well without
putting up a fight.

Then another one of the guards – the one that had been hanging back the most while they
taunted and poked at the bound Time Lord – stepped forward and, laughing, placed a hand on
the first guard's shoulder. "That's enough, Drewan, you're scaring the thing. It's not able to tell
that you're joking."

The Doctor relaxed minutely. Of course. Of course they wouldn't dare touch somebody
else's property, even if he was technically just on trial.

The first guard sniggered anyway and, apparently ignoring his comrade, reached once more
for the Doctor's hips. This time his fingers found the waistband of the gray sweatpants the
Doctor had been given and hooked over the edge, pulling down. The Doctor saw red, the
color of absolute dread. "Oh, I know," Drewan was saying, "I just like to watch them squirm
– OUCH!"

On instinct the Doctor had kicked out again, this time his knee making contact with the
guard's soft stomach. The Doctor instantly knew he was in trouble. The guard growled and
instead grabbed the Doctor's ankles and jerked him off the bed. Unable to do anything, the
Doctor's body slumped over the edge and his shoulders and the back of his head slammed
into the floor. A muffled uff escaped through the gag. Black spots danced across his vision.
The guard rammed his boot into the Doctor's side and he groaned through the muzzle, eyes
screwed up against the pressure of his bruised ribs.

"Drewan, enough." A stern voice suddenly cut across the laughter of the other guards. The
Doctor's eyes flew open to see Bachir striding into the room. Drewan took the tiniest step
back from the Doctor's crumpled body, still glaring. Bachir looked down his ridged nose at
his ward with disgust. "I'll deal with you later, 305. Now take the position."

Struggling with his hands bound so tightly, the Time Lord managed to roll onto his side and
push himself up into a kneeling position. Apparently it wasn't good enough for Bachir,
however. The Drephesh grabbed the back collar of the Doctor's shirt and hurled him towards
the center of the room. The Doctor crashed to the floor again, unable to break the fall, before
pushing himself up once more, keeping his angry and scared eyes on the floor.
"Where he can see you, you dumb animal." Bachir growled with annoyance. The Doctor just
barely held back a dirty look. How the hell was I supposed to know that? He hissed mentally,
hoping that through some kind of telepathic network Bachir could feel his hatred for him.
The keeper made no signs of such a thing.

"Guards, you are dismissed." He continued without taking his eyes off the kneeling Time
Lord. "And if you ever touch my charge again without my express permission, you will be
joining it in it's training. Understood?"

There were a couple mumbled "Yes, sir"s before the guards turned and left, leaving the
Doctor and his keeper alone.

The Doctor didn't dare look up as Bachir came to stand directly over him. His shoulders
shook slightly with both anger and fear. With a deep breath through his nose, the Doctor try
to steady them. His keeper was furious, of that he was sure, and he wouldn't put it passed the
Drephesh to try to punish him for something that was completely out of his control. But
instead Bachir kneeled down in front of the Doctor and took his chin in hand so as to lift up
the Doctor's face. His eyes were cold as the Doctor stared defiantly back at him, struggling
with that tiny voice lingering in the back of his head that told him that slaves weren't to look
their superiors in the eye. That voice was becoming a nuisance.

"I know it wouldn't be hard for something as low as you," Bachir began. "But try to avoid
looking desirable. I don't know what Prebassador Ligtech wants with you, but he is messing
with my plans. He will be here any moment now."

And sure enough, the Doctor could already hear footsteps coming down the hallway towards
them. His shoulders tensed instantly. Bachir stood and moved to stand behind the Doctor as
the door opened and the man with the charcoal gray skin and silver hair entered, followed by
the Drephesh in a suit from earlier. They appeared to have been in the middle of a
conversation when they reached the door, for the president was still saying, "Unfortunately
we don't know what species it is yet, but if it's eluded our extensive database of species then I
can guarantee you that whatever it is must be exceptionally rare. Exotic even, some could
say."

The Doctor thought he sounded like a car salesman and he almost laughed before
remembering that he was the car.

"And he hasn't told you what he is?" The Prebassador asked curiously, inspecting the Doctor
from where he knelt on the floor.

The president appeared uncomfortable for a split second. "No." Bachir gave a clipped answer
for him. "This one is extremely difficult around authority, any attempts to break through to it
have proven unsuccessful."

"Well, not all attempts, Bachir." The president laughed nervously. "It seems perfectly
obedient right now, for instance."

"You are the creature's keeper?" The Prebassador turned his attention away from the Doctor
for the first time since meeting him. Bachir nodded his acknowledgement. "And what is your
opinion of it?"

Bachir glanced at the president for a quick second, an entire conversation happening in the
short look. He turned back to the Prebassador with a steely look in his orange eyes. "I
personally do not think it is worth either your time or your money, Prebassador. It is
disobedient, arrogant, and far more trouble than the money you would be paying for it. I
believe you could find your happiness in the purchase of a properly trained slave instead,
especially since this one isn't even officially for sale."

The president looked like he was about to do a facepalm. The Prebassador frowned as he
looked the Doctor over again. "Can you have him stand?"

Bachir yanked the Doctor's arm up and the Time Lord quickly struggled to his feet. He stood
between Bachir and the Prebassador, an inch or two taller than both of them, and tried to fix
on that defiant mask again. The Prebassador's frown deepened. "Well he's skeletal." He
pointed out, not sounding the least bit impressed. "Just skin and bones. Do you not feed your
charges, keeper?"

The president jumped in quickly, probably guessing how Bachir was going to respond. "It
was even worse when we found it, Prebassador. Barely alive, not able to survive on it's own
in the wild. We've had it on a steady meal plan of all the essential minerals and vitamins to
get it back on track, but we think it might have something to do with it's specie's metabolism.
It is improving, however slowly."

The Doctor's eyes lit up briefly as he laughed at the outright lie. The Prebassador seemed to
have heard, as he turned to him quickly and, to the Doctor's utter surprise, smiled
conspiratorially at him.

"Well, just the sight of him is making me hungry. Could you send for a meal from the
kitchens for me to be brought here while we get better acquainted?"

The sparkle of laughter died in the Doctor's eyes at that. Oh, yes, he was there in order to get
'better acquainted' with this man. The Prebassador didn't actually seem dangerous, if the
Doctor was being honest, but there will always be men like that, capable of inflicting
horrendous deeds with a charming smile on their face. The Doctor could actually name a few
right then and there, some even in the very same room as them.

"Of – of course, Prebassador Ligtech." The president said in surprise. "Bachir, go alert the
kitchen." Bachir glared between the president and the Prebassador before muttering a "yes,
sir" and sweeping from the room. "I assume you'd like to be alone now?" The president asked
good-naturedly.

"Yes please." The president gave a small bow before heading towards the door. "Oh, and Mr.
President? Is there a key? For the handcuffs, I mean."

The president reached into his pocket and handed the Prebassador a small key. The
Prebassador thanked him and then the two of them – the slave and the buyer – were left
alone.
"Those must be extremely uncomfortable." The Prebassador suddenly stated after a small
silence. "Come here." He moved behind the Doctor, who tensed at the close proximity, not
sure what the Prebassador was going to do to him. His hearts were racing, but he fought to
keep it from showing in his face. He felt a sudden tugging on his wrists and heard a
faint click before his arms fell apart, free of the cuffs. He brought them around in front of his
chest, massaging the wrists to get the circulation flowing again.

"You can remove the gag as well." The Prebassador pointed out. "You'll be needing the use of
your mouth back."

The Doctor repressed a shudder at what those words might be implying, but otherwise
obliged, unclasping the material behind his head. He rotated his jaw, hearing it click in his
ears, before shaking his head. "Ah, that's better." He decided to go with a relaxed tone,
attempting to show indifference to the whole situation. He even threw in a charming smile,
just for effect. "Although, I might want to warn you, you'll most definitely be getting a loogie
in your soup tonight."

The Prebassador raised an eyebrow. "Thank you for the warning. And why do you believe
that?"

With a shrug, the Doctor spun around, feigning interest in a painting hanging on the wall
behind him. "Bachir doesn't take kindly to being ordered around. Trust me, I know, and he
isn't very happy with you to begin with."

The Prebassador chuckled lightly. The Doctor turned in time to see the smile still on his face,
white teeth showing brilliantly against the dark gray of his skin. He was actually quite
hansom if the Doctor was going to be honest. Young and confident. Far too young to be so
confident and far too confident for his age. And he was far too comfortable around
subjugated beings, the Doctor thought, yet courteous enough to consider their own comfort as
well. Something about him simply didn't add up, but quite suddenly the Doctor was sure that
if it ever did, the final sum would not be anything the Doctor could predict. And he
was very good at reading people…most of the time.

"A slave who speaks so freely of his masters. Definitely an interesting character trait."

The Doctor turned around with a snort, mimicking the confidence the Prebassador emitted.
"Bachir is hardly my master." He said calmly.

"Then who is?"

The Doctor chortled at the simple question and turned back around. "Not him and certainly
not anyone in the facility at this particular moment."

The Prebassador laughed again at the Doctor's silent statement. He strode over to the bed,
which the Doctor had pointedly avoided moving towards, and removed his jacket, draping it
over the footboard. The Doctor began to walk slowly around the opposite side of the room,
taking in the warm colors of the furniture in conjunction with the deep red of the carpet and
the dark stained wood paneling on the walls. Everything about the appearance of the room
made him feel warm and comfortable, which he supposed was the point. It was the most
warm and comfortable room he'd been in in months.

"What is your name, boy?" The Prebassador suddenly asked, cutting through the momentary
silence. The Doctor quirked an eyebrow.

"Shouldn't you be asking me what's my number? Isn't that how we're belittling and
depersonalizing sentient beings nowadays?"

"If I had asked you for your number I would have asked you for your number." The
Prebassador stated in a flat, expectant voice.

"Yeah, well, fair enough I suppose." The Doctor responded with a shrug. "Besides, that
would have been quite forward of you, wouldn't it be? At least buy me a drink first."

"I'm pretty sure I've already taken care of that."

The Doctor stopped his slow pacing and quickly raised his eyes to meet the Prebassador's
own gray one's. He honestly didn't know what to make of that statement. It hadn't been said
threateningly, and his face showed no signs of being malicious.

"Your name?" The Prebassador asked again. The Doctor swallowed before dipping his head a
little bit.

"John Smith."

The Prebassador nodded slightly, considering the name. He actually looked a bit…
disappointed? As if he had been hoping he'd say someone else. Then he shook himself out of
the look and stepped forward, striding towards the Doctor. The Time Lord resisted the desire
to step backwards and away from him. But then the Prebassador did something the Doctor
had thoroughly not been expecting. He held out his hand as if to shake the Doctor's. "I am
Jancon Ligtech, Prebassador to the planet Shelwick and the surrounding systems, including
Drephia." The Doctor stared at the offered hand, hesitant, before cautiously reaching out and
grasping it. Jancon's fingers tightened around his in a well-practiced grip that showed no sign
of reluctance at touching something from such low a status as the Doctor's. "I feel we are
going to be working very closely together, Mr. Smith." Jancon said lowly. "We must get
comfortable with each other."

Again, the words he used were something the Doctor didn't like to hear, but the way in which
they were said almost made them seem non-suggestive, as it had with many other things the
prebassador had said before. But just the same, the Doctor had no idea how to respond. He
just nodded, detesting the taste of no words to come back with.

There was a rap on the door and Jancon stepped away. "Enter." He called, and the door
swung open to reveal one of the slaves Eyal employed for itself carrying in a tray of food.
The Doctor's stomach did a somersault as his nose was assaulted with the delicious smells.
Real, proper food was placed on the small table standing to the side. Exotic steamed
vegetables, a hardy chunk of something that resembled chicken but was a little more yellow
glazed with a caramelized onion and apple topping, a fluffy white pile of what the Doctor
knew was the same thing served to the slaves in their lukewarm broth, only prepared
correctly and deliciously and smothered in butter. A fresh water jug was placed beside it,
little droplets of condensation forming along it. His stomach growled its approval to the
array, much to the Doctor's embarrassment.

The other slave left silently. So engrossed with desire for something to eat, the Doctor hardly
noticed as Jancon swept back across the room and gathered up his jacket. "Sit. Eat." He
instructed as he pulled on the jacket. "I have other things to attend to at the moment. I'll
return to collect you later, so I expect you to be prepared to leave."

The Doctor's eyebrows nearly met in the middle as he turned to the Prebassador. "What?
That's it?" He asked, astonished.

"That's all I need, for now. Later we will have a more personal, in depth introduction to each
other, but it will have to wait." He went to the door and was about to turn the handle when he
paused, glancing back over his shoulder. "And, please, don't make me regret my decision –
Mr. Smith. It will not be pleasant for all parties involved, of that I can assure you."

And with that threat he swept from the room, leaving the Doctor all by himself. For a few
minutes the Time Lord just stood there, staring at the rather boring wooden door. That's
it? He kept asking himself. That was certainly not what he'd been expecting, though he wasn't
particularly about to complaining about it.

With small, hesitant steps, the Doctor moved silently across the room to the door. He
distinctly had not heard it click locked before when Jancon had left. If, for some reason, the
door had been unwisely left unlocked, the Doctor could easily slip through and go find Rose
and an escape route.

He placed his hand on the doorknob and, holding his breath, slowly began to twist it open.
Just as he had suspected, the door was unlocked. He pulled it open carefully, still not daring
to breath, but then let out a disappointed sigh as he came face-to-face with a guard stationed
outside the door. The guard quickly stood up from where he'd been leaning against the
opposite wall and began making his way over to the Doctor, hand reach for a familiar cattle-
prod at his belt. But the Doctor just waved him off with a lazy, defeated flick of the wrist.
"Oh, never mind." He sighed again and pulled the door shut in front of him for the guard,
retreating back into the room. It wasn't worth the effort to try and get passed him, he knew he
would lose. He was too tired and the guard was too well equipped. He would certainly rather
not feel the bite of the cattle-prod again.

Speaking of bite…

Pretty soon the smell of the untouched food wafted over to him again. Cautiously he made
his way over to the table. The meat was still steaming, the butter having melted perfectly into
the potato-like mash that smelled faintly of habisja, a garlic-like herb found on the planets of
this system. His mouth began to water almost uncontrollably. He picked up the jug of water
and gave it a quick sniff. Just like water should, it smelt of nothing. He smiled to himself.
They believed the food and drink had been for Jancon, and therefore obviously would not
dare to put in the drug. He fingered the rim of the jug, the pad of his finger collecting little
bits of water along them. Such a simple gift was too good to resist. He poured himself a glass
of the clear liquid and chugged it back, savoring the taste of authentic, pure water.

He hesitated over the food. He wasn't exactly going against any order by eating…
Jancon had in fact told him to eat, so in actuality he would be disobeying if he did not. Who
knew when would be the next time he would be able to eat, and especially eat something as
intricate and delicious as this looked. Then he began to wonder if he would even be able to
stomach such rich food after so long going without. The potato mash would probably be no
problem because it was so simple and bland, even with the butter, but the meat would
certainly not work out in his best interest.

The Doctor drank another sip of water, quenching his chapped lips and raw throat. His
stomach growled one more time in encouragement and the Doctor sat and, picking up the
fork delicately, began to eat. Just as his owner had ordered.

Two hours and seventeen minutes went by without the Prebassador reappearing. The Doctor
had gratefully devoured the potato mash and a few of the vegetables before admittedly
feeling rather full. His stomach must have shrunk a surprising amount in order to compensate
for his small rations over the last few weeks. He felt bad for not attempting to eat the meat,
but honestly felt as if it wasn't going to work in his favor. The smell of the glaze, however –
sweet from the apples and tangy from the onions - still taunted him from across the room.

The Doctor was lounging across the bed on his stomach, legs kicked up at the knees and
hooked together in the air, as he flipped through the pages of some old Drepheshie book.
There was a small bookshelf meant for decoration in the room, and the Doctor had found an
ancient book about interplanetary ballroom dancing courtship – an extremely bizarre book to
have in the guestroom of a slave trader. His eyes scanning across the pages at lightening
speeds, savoring the activity of reading again. The bed was so comfortable and his stomach
so full that the Doctor felt as if he could easily fall asleep right then and there for a very long
time, but refused to be caught in such a vulnerable position in case Jancon were to return. The
opportunity, however, was almost too good to allow himself to ignore. Who knew if he'd be
sleeping in that cage again. He had so far received no news about whether Jancon had
decided on the purchase yet or not.

Just as he was coming to the end of the book, he heard footsteps coming up the hallway
again. Speak of the devil… He turned over and sat up, placing the book pages down on the
bed beside him so as to hold his spot. No knock came as the door was pushed open, but
Jancon was not the one who stepped through the door. Vadim came through holding a tray
carrying only a few cotton pads, some disinfectant, a vile of some clear liquid, and a syringe.
The Doctor frowned. He had no injuries, why was the slave doctor here?

"It really should come as no surprise to me that you know how to read." Vadim commented
lightly, shutting the door behind him. The Doctor picked up the book and snapped it shut.
Vadim glanced at the cover as he placed the tray on the table beside the half-eaten food.
"Interplanetary Ballroom Dancing?" He asked with a chuckle. "Not exactly an advanced
study."
"Well, you learn something new from something new every day." The Doctor moved to sit
over the edge of the bed, already missing the deep warmth of the blankets. "Do you know
what an arabesque is, doctor?"

"I certainly can't say I do, John."

The Doctor glanced up from where he'd been staring at his hands, completely surprised.
Surely he had heard wrong. Vadim just chuckled again.

"The Prebassador just paid and signed all the releases, and on your papers he decided to give
you back your original name."

"He…he paid already?" I've been purchased…

Vadim nodded. "Just now after visiting another slave. Apparently he preferred you. Not
surprising, I might add. You're clearly an intelligent, clever being and the female he chose to
meet after was…well, a bit plain if you ask me. Now give me your arm."

He pulled out a disinfectant wipe and held out his hand expectantly for the Doctor's arm. The
Doctor hesitated briefly before extending it. Vadim rubbed the wipe over the crook of the
Doctor's elbow before sticking the needle of the syringe into the vial and pulling out a bit of
the drug inside. He squirted a bit of the clear liquid out of the end, testing it. The Doctor
watched it hit the ground.

"What's in that?" He asked nervously, remembering the last time these people had injected
him with some foreign substance. He had ended up writhing and convulsing on the ground,
nearly dead.

Vadim glanced up from his work. "Roznesthylicprofen, only with the acetylsalicylic acid
removed on account of your allergies. Unfortunately, you're going to wake up with one
horrible space-sickness headache."

The Doctor shivered at the name of the familiar drug. It was the same he and Rose had been
given on the flight to Eyal. Only, without the elements of aspirin the mixture was perfectly
safe. "I think a headache is more manageable than the alternative." He muttered as Vadim slid
back over to him. "Elements of Rozerem, Perphenazine, and Ibuprofen, am I right? So it will
still knock me out."

"That's the idea." Vadim replied flippantly as he tied off a rubber band around the Doctor's
upper arm, feeling for a good vein. "It is rather unfortunate I was never able to properly study
you. I believe Drephia could greatly benefit from your obvious knowledge. But unfortunately
the Prebassador came in with a wallet just a little bit too big to refuse. Now hold still."

He jammed the syringe into the Doctor's arm. The Doctor hissed at the pressure building in
his veins as the drug was injected, and instantly he began to feel drowsy. The warm colors of
the room began to blend together, blurring and fading in front of him. He didn't notice as
Vadim placed a hand behind his back and carefully lowered him down onto the bed. Didn't
hear as the doctor announced a team would be coming to transport him to Jancon's shuttle.
All he noticed was that the covers of the bed seemed to be consuming him, blocking off his
vision from the edges inwards, getting ready to spit him out again in his new home, with his
new owner.
 Chapter 27

He dreamt of a giant ashen snake with pallid eyes. This in itself was strange. He rarely ever
dreamed. He rarely ever slept. And yet here it felt as if it had been a century since he had last
seen the conscious world, courting the gray serpent whose eyes glistened with comfort and
assurance even as its barbed fangs sank into his flesh.

He awoke not with a jolt but with a groan as his dream-world's life source was sucked from
him, replaced with a pounding in his head. So intense was the headache that the Doctor
actually felt nauseous. With great effort due to his lead-filled limbs, the Doctor rolled over
onto his side and curled up, arms folded and pressed against his stomach. Vadim had been
right; space-sickness was not a pleasant experience. Oh, how he missed his TARDIS, with
her protective shields and immunity boosters. He wondered where his beloved ship was now
and if she was still parked in the middle of the desert where they had left her, or if some
whack-job from Ren's outpost had found her and taken her into custody as well. The Doctor
smiled lightly at the though of Eyal's minions trying to break through her doors. If they had
thought the Doctor had been difficult, they had no idea.

As he smiled he felt his cheek brush against something soft, and for the first time was aware
that his head was resting on something deep and warm. And not just his head, but his entire
body. His fingers tugged at something covering him and he realized it was a blanket. He was
lying in a bed. Well…that was unexpected.

There was a loud creak of a door being opened and the Doctor flew upright, body expecting
to feel the sharp stab of the usual morning electricity at any moment. It never came, but
instead the pain in his head spiked to appalling levels. The Doctor hissed as he went to clutch
at his head, wondering madly if it was possible to end the pain simply by pulling his head
clean off his neck and shoulders.

"Careful, boy!" An unfamiliar female voice reprimanded him from somewhere beyond his
screwed-shut eyes. "You're not well yet, you'll injure yourself again. Oh, and here comes the
nose-bleeding. Orange blood all over my clean white sheets – again. Here, hold this to it."

The Doctor felt a hand press a soft handkerchief to his nose and tilt his head backwards. He
forced one eye to open enough to see an elderly plump woman standing over him wearing an
apron and a stern, yet concerned expression. She nodded approvingly as she noticed his eyes
were open. "Good to see you're finally awake. Space-sickness is a nasty business. You'd think
they would have come up with a cure by now."

"How long –" Croaked the Doctor before realizing his throat was too dry to go on.

"Thirty-six hours. Drink." She shoved a cup of water into the Doctor's hand, which he
gratefully gulped down. There was a faint metallic tang where he assumed his blood had run
down his nose and over his lips. The liquid instantly soothed his parched throat. He went to
set the cup on the table beside his bed, and that's when he realized he was wearing shackles
around his wrists. Not uncomfortable ones. The cuffs were made of soft leather so as not to
chaff and the chain connecting them was relatively thin and lengthy, so that there was a
reasonable amount of slack between them to make his movements easier. He frowned at them
nonetheless. "W-why?"

The woman shrugged. "We weren't sure what kind of temperament you would have when you
awoke. A precaution, if you will. While you are in your room you need not wear them;
However, whenever you set foot out into the main estate I will be forced to replace them. A
necessary precaution as well as a reminder of your status."

"As a slave…" The Doctor mumbled, more so to himself. "What – what does…Jancon want
with m-me?"

The woman gave him a stern look. "You will refer to Prebassador Ligtech as 'master' or 'sir'
only."

"You don't." The Doctor blurted out quietly without really thinking. The woman raised her
chin and stared down at him.

"I am not a slave." She stated pointedly. "Which makes me a higher authority than you. You
seem unfamiliar with the expectations of your position, so I shall make it abundantly clear to
you: You are of the lowest status here. Even the Prebassador's pets are higher in value than
you. Therefore even if a simple servant were to demand a task from you, it is outside your
ability to deny them unless the Prebassador or I have given you an express contradictory
order. Do you understand?"

The Doctor nodded shallowly, his head still ringing. The woman placed her hands on her hips
and nodded sharply. "Good. I am Mrs. Sinh, I'm in charge of the estate staff. The Prebassador
sent me to inform you that you are expected to meet with him before supper in order to
receive your orders for the night. Until then I can remove your shackles and you're free to
rest, eat, there's a bathroom through that door there with a shower so you can wash up; so
long as you remain in your room, you are free to do as you please. I'll have a staff member
return to collect you in an hour."

With that, she removed his shackles and left, locking the door behind her. The Doctor
collapsed back into the pillow as soon as she was gone, releasing a loud puff of air through
his nose. His head still hurt, but the water had definitely helped. He glanced over at the tray
Mrs. Sinh left on his bedside table, which held a stack of buttered bread, a water jug, and a
bowl of dark brown broth, hot and appropriately salty. The Doctor dunked the bread in until it
was soggy before scarfing it down, enjoying the mixture of flavors.

His mind, which had been so foggy before he hadn't been able to really register what Mrs.
Sinh was saying, was clearing now. He now truly remember that had happened, and with a
resounding sigh he rubbed his tired eyes and stood. He grabbed the edge of the table as he
lost balance for a second before recovering. The room was sparse, decorated only with a plain
bed, dresser, and bedside table. There were two doors, one that apparently led to the
bathroom and the other to the exit. The Doctor moved towards the latter and tested the door.
Sturdy and locked. "Oh well," He sighed to himself. "Long shot anyways."
He went to the bathroom next and turned on the shower, gratefully stripping out of the gray
outfit he'd been given at Eyal. The hot water running over him was the most amazing feeling
in the universe. He finally got to scrub his own hair clean, no foreign fingernails digging
viciously into his scalp or wandering over his exposed flesh. He stayed in there much longer
than necessary, letting the scorching water burn the experiences of the last 6 weeks from his
skin. He stepped out feeling so much more like his old self again that he even smiled.

He dried off and, wrapping the towel around his thin waist, exited the steamy bathroom.

"Oh! Blimey!"

The Doctor jumped backwards, his back hitting the bathroom door behind him, hand jumping
to the towel to ensure it stayed in place. He hadn't been expecting to return to someone
waiting for him in his room.

The girl seemed startled as well, although she recovered much quicker that the Doctor did. "I
apologize, I didn't mean to frighten you!" She exclaimed quickly.

"What? Me? Frightened? Naw!" The Doctor waved a nonchalant hand through the air
between them as his hearts stopped their pounding. "I just wasn't expecting to run into a
strange woman in my room while I'm half naked. Not really a common occurrence for me.
Although, actually, now that I think about it, it does seem to happen to me pretty often…
what, am I turning into Jack? Oh, I'm sorry, I'm rambling…and I'm still half naked…not
really a good mix…"

The girl blushed noticeably, which was quite an accomplishment considering her skin was
already bright red. She instantly reminded him of Lalay. "You're Aonian, aren't you?"

"Well…yes, we are on Shelwick." She laughed lightly. The Doctor's eyebrows shot upwards
with his smile.

"Oh, really! That's exciting! I haven't been to Shelwick in over a century! But then again,
that was a century into your future, so really if we're getting technical it's been two
centuries…I'm rambling again."

The girl gave him a strange look. "Yes, you are. Well, I brought you some new clothes." She
indicated a pile of neatly folded black clothes on his bed. "Prebassador Ligtech inquired with
your old masters as to what you were wearing when you were captured – I think he wants
you to feel as comfortable as you can with something familiar. Your old clothes were
destroyed, of course, but hopefully these will fit."

"Thank you." Said the Doctor as he looked over the button-down shirt and trousers. "But…
black's not really my color."

"I'm sorry, but those in slavery are required to wear only black clothes. A sign of –"

"My status." He finished for her, looking down briefly at his own feet. She gave him a
genuine look of sympathy.
"Once you're dressed and ready I can take you up to the main estate. I'll just…wait outside.
Knock when you're ready."

The Doctor dressed quickly in his all-black ensemble. The trousers were a little large, but
they came with a belt so he didn't complain too much. It was nice being back in real clothes
again, although he did note that no shoes were provided for him. An expense he was not
worthy of or a precaution to keep him from trying to run away, he wasn't sure, although these
clothes did not look much like the usual attire of a slave so he doubted it was the first option.

Once he was done and ran a towel through his dripping hair, he knocked on the door and the
girl began to lead him up to the estate. With another apologetic look she replaced the shackles
around his wrists, but the chain between was long enough that he could still stick his hands in
the pockets of his trousers.

"I'm John, by the way." He announced as they made their way out of what must have been the
servant's quarters. "John Smith. What's yours?"

"Coria."

"Lovely name. Coria."

The night was lovely as well. Dusk had arrived, and just like how Lalay had described, the
sky was turning into its signature purple with the turquoise streaks. The estate rose high
above them as they walked across the expanse of bluegrass – a real estate monster that
resembled a Caribbean style vacation home back on earth (only about a hundred times larger
than any the Doctor had seen) with all its open walls and tropical style design, fitting for the
climate of Shelwick.

Coria led him through a side door that moved them through the kitchens. Servants hustled
and bustled around, preparing meals and shouting orders, and some froze to watch the new
slave being dragged through their midst. "Back to work." Mrs. Sinh's voice called from
somewhere over the din.

The Doctor tried to gather in every detail, but Coria was walking too fast, her pace practiced
as she wove through hall after hall after staircase. Soon they exited onto a giant patio with
large pillars holding up a third floor from the open-aired area. Sconces burned along the tan
red walls and numerous native plants added a vibrant splash of color from where they'd been
potted.

"The Prebassador should be arriving momentarily." Coria informed him. "I must return to the
kitchens, so if you could just stay here for now."

The Doctor nodded to her. She smiled, cocking her head to the side. "You know, you don't act
very much like a slave."

"That's because I'm not a slave." She laughed kindly at that.

"We're all slaves, John. Even the 'free servants' must come to terms with that. Goodnight."
She left quickly after that, vanishing behind a large potted plant into what the Doctor
assumed was a hidden door. He turned around, walking over to the railing on the edge of the
patio. Shelwick was absolutely beautiful at night. Below he could see a large garden with a
stream babbling through it. A large white bird with skinny legs stalked through the carefully
manicured water-plants and weeds. And up above, the stars glistened against the purple sky,
vibrant and bright so far away from heavy city lights. The Doctor leaned against the railing,
chin resting in the palm of his hand, and smiled up at the sky. How long had it been since he'd
last seen stars? Far, far too long for the space traveler who was born to the universe,
determined to visit every single one before he finally ran out of regenerations and drops dead.
He would be out there again soon, the Doctor promised himself. Traveling the stars with
Rose Tyler by his side.

"Beautiful, isn't it." Jancon's voice suddenly came from behind him. The Doctor was so at
peace with his surroundings, seeing the stars again, that he didn't even jump at the arrival of
his 'master'. He nearly responded, opening him mouth to comment on the scenery, when
another voice interrupted his thought.

"Yes, he really is beautiful."

The Doctor turned around slowly to see Jancon standing in the torchlight, his arm around a
tall, thin woman with light gray skin and silver hair dyed with dark purple streaks. Her white
eyes raked him up and down and suddenly he felt like he was just wearing that towel again.
He shifted uncomfortably under her scrutiny and cleared his throat.

"Is he for me?" She asked, glancing hopefully up at Jancon. The Prebassador laughed.

"No, my darling Ilaria, not this one. This one's for me. He's going to be working on my
special project." He added in a quieter voice that the Doctor still easily could catch.

Ilaria pouted and continued to speak as if the Doctor weren't actually there. "Oh, but he is
pretty..."

"And rare," Jancon added appreciatively. Then he smirked and stared pointedly into the
Doctor's eyes. "The last of the Time Lords. A prize indeed."

The Doctor's hearts froze. He pressed his back against the railing, mind spinning, breath
catching. How did he – how did he know? Had he told Eyal? Surely not, or else they would
not have sold him, or would be coming back to reclaim him.

Jancon laughed lightly at the look of surprise and barely masked dread on the Doctor's face.
He turned to his companion, pressing his face into her long hair as he pecked her cheek. "Go
on inside, darling, I'll meet you there later."

With a disappointed pout, Ilaria left through a large open archway, sashaying away from the
two men. Jancon watched her leave before turning back to the Doctor, who had taken time
during the brief distraction to straighten himself up and reaffirm his mask. Jancon studied
him for a moment before taking a sip of his wine and striding forward.
"Yes, I know what you are." He said conversationally as he leaned against the rail beside the
Doctor. "You need not be afraid, I haven't told a soul outside this estate. Although those idiots
down at Eyal seem to be lacking in the brains department as of late; not even recognizing the
physiology of a Gallifreyan when they see one."

"Yep, well, you caught me." The Doctor replied lightly. "How did you know, though? I wasn't
exactly shouting it from the rooftops when you came to meet me."

"I have access to all of Eyal's records." He answered proudly. "Illegally, of course, but who's
going to turn me in? I've done extensive studies on Gallifrey – call it an interest of mine, a
hobby if you will – and when I saw that a slave had been captured who fit all the
physiological traits of one I had to see for myself."

"Well, congratulations. Not many species in the universe even know what a Time Lord is, let
alone how to recognize one."

"Hmm." Jancon accepted the compliment.

"So, what am I now? A trophy?" The Doctor asked, honestly curious as to why Jancon had
purchased him. The Prebassador laughed.

"Hardly." He turned around so he was staring out across the expanse of his estate. "I prefer
my trophies a little more…feminine, if you get my drift."

The Doctor did. There was a short pause between them as Jancon took another sip of his
wine. "Although it is actually beautiful, isn't it?" And now this time the Doctor knew he was
talking about the scenery. "Have you ever been to Shelwick, Mr. Smith?"

"A long time ago in your future." The Doctor said cryptically as he turned to stare with
Jancon. "A time when slavery is outlawed by this land."

Jancon laughed again. His laughter was always full of genuine mirth and never sounded cruel
and merciless like most of the guards' had. "Touché Mr. Smith, although I don't think it
counts to use something that hasn't even happened yet in order to make me feel guilty."

The Doctor shrugged. "Not trying to make you feel guilty, just telling you the facts."

"Well, the planet's on its way towards your happy ending. Certain species are no longer
allowed to be bought or sold into slavery anymore. Crayans, Lycannots, Misliotentui,
humans…"The Doctor perked up at that. Jancon noticed. "I see something I said caught your
attention. Your mate, isn't it?"

The Doctor had gotten so used to everyone calling Rose his 'mate' that he no longer needed to
think about what they meant, the fact just clicked, as if it had always fit. "Yes. Rose, my – my
mate. She's human."

"And she's still stuck in Eyal." Jancon guessed.

"As far as I know."

"Well, that really is too bad for her." The Prebassador glanced up at the Doctor, a
mischievous glint in his eye. "I'm sure she'll make some Drephesh very…happy…one day."

He pushed himself off the railing, throwing back the last sip of his wine, and began to walk
away. Irrationally, the Doctor panicked. "Wait!" Jancon paused. The Doctor stole himself,
glancing down at his feet. Since when had he been reduced to this? "Please. She's – She's a
wonderful person, the most amazing. She doesn't deserve this life. If you brought her back
here and –"

"Freed her?" Jancon finished for him, eyebrows raised. The Doctor gulped and nodded.

"I'll do anything."

Jancon smirked and came over to the Doctor, stopping when their faces were mere inches
from each other's. "Of course you will, Mr. Smith." He whispered threateningly, all pretenses
of hospitality gone from his eyes. "You're my slave."

Jancon went to turn away again, but the Doctor grabbed his arm. The Prebassador ripped his
arm free and spun on his slave. "You do not touch your master unless told to." He said
quietly, his tone heavy with threat. The Doctor ignored it.

"This project, this special project you mentioned to your companion earlier." He said quickly.
"You obviously purchased me for a reason, for a purpose, but you haven't mentioned it to me
yet. Why? Because you're waiting for me to beg for it, to bargain for Rose's freedom by
accomplishing this task. The fact that you had to resort to such a trick to try and get me to
agree means whatever it is must be horrible and I would never agree to do something like it
blindly. But here I am anyway…begging for it. Please."

Jancon stared at him for a moment before a large grin split his face. He smirked at the Doctor
as he laughed, for the first time sounding malevolent. "Oh, you are clever. Perfect. That's
exactly what I was gambling on. Alright, Mr. Smith, I shall consider procuring the freedom
of your little flower in exchange for your services. However, keep in mind that you were the
one that offered them."

Jancon took a step back and went to walk around the Doctor. The Time Lord matched his
steps, keeping the Prebassador perfectly in sight. Jancon leaned against one of the pillars and
cross his arms smugly.

"So, tell me, Mr. Smith, what do you know of the Tarmaggon Trials?"

The Doctor's eyes instantly darkened, his face forming into a scowl at the mere mention of
the name. "I know how illegal it is." He answered forebodingly. "And how dangerous, how
deadly, how absolutely inhumane –"

"Well, you're not human, are you? So I don't think you need worry about it being inhumane."

"So you intend to have me compete?" The Doctor scoffed, trying to mask how the idea of
competing in the Trails really made him feel. His hearts were beating at a mile a minute each,
as if preparing for him to grow wings and fly away right then and there.
Jancon burst out laughing. "Oh, heavens no! The Trial is only a few weeks away, I've had my
competitor in training for months! You, on the other hand, are here to help me ensure that,
even if he does not evade the snatchers or get across that line first, my competitor will win by
default."

"I don't like what 'winning by default' implies, Jancon."

Pain instantly radiated from his ankle, rattling up his shin and knee and into his hips. The
Doctor shouted out, taken by surprise by the pain, and grabbed for the closest railing to help
hold himself up. Soon the pain vanished and the Doctor was left slumped over the railing,
trying to catch his breath. He looked up to see Jancon twirling around a familiar silver
remote. The Doctor glared at him and Jancon simply laughed.

"A gift from your keeper. Awfully handy, don't you think?" The Doctor didn't respond. He
spit over the side of the railing, his saliva tinted orange from where he bit his tongue during
the shock, and glared back at Jancon. "Now, let's try correcting your manners. I'm granting
you a fair amount of freedom, Time Lord, far more than I usually give my slaves, but I still
demand a certain amount of respect from you. You will never call me by my name again,
only as 'master' or 'sir'. Am I understood."

"Yes, master." The Doctor spat back sarcastically. Like hell he was going to be reduced
to that.

Think about Rose… The Doctor's glare softened as that small voice of reason spoke over that
of his pride. If he behaved and did whatever it was Jancon wanted him to do, he would get
Rose back, that much was clear as day. But what wasn't clear was exactly what the
Prebassador needed.

"What do you want from me, sir."

Jancon smirked and readjusted the cuffs of his jacket. "I want you to use that incredible Time
Lord brain of yours to help me make the perfect invisible weapon." He checked the time on a
pocket watch that projected the numbers above it before turning to the Doctor, all
malevolence gone from his eyes and face as if it had never been there. "Now get out of my
sight and go clean the kitchen from top to bottom for Mrs. Sinh. Do not return to your room
until it is spotless, and tomorrow we shall discuss the details of your enslavement."

His long stride quickly carried him off the open patio, leaving the Doctor still clinging to the
railing, breathless with worry about what he had just agreed to do.
 Chapter 28

The Doctor trudged back into his room and collapsed onto the bed fully clothed. He was
utterly exhausted. Cleaning the kitchen had taken the entire night to do, and by the time he'd
finished scrubbing down the last surface the sun was already beginning to rise. He really
shouldn't have been so tired, but with the space-sickness and the lack of sleep he received at
Eyal, the Doctor found himself nodding of over a large pot he was drying clean. Mrs. Sinh
had to wake him up and send him back to work even though her eyes followed him with a
look of stern motherly concern.

It shouldn't have taken that long either, but continuously throughout the night other servants
would come up to him and demand his help, which Mrs. Sinh reminded him he couldn't
refuse. But after the fourth or fifth "Slave boy, run up to the fourth floor and get me this
useless item I must have right now", the Doctor's patience began to wear thin.

"I have a name, you know!" He finally snapped at a servant girl around three o'clock in the
morning. The girl looked taken aback, as if she really hadn't considered that.

"Oh, uhh, I'm sorry." She apologized awkwardly, not meeting his eyes. "Um - Could you
please take these dish towels to the laundry – er...?"

"It's John." The Doctor sighed as he took hold of the offered laundry basket. The night wore
on as such, one chores after the next, and the Doctor swore that every time he returned to the
kitchen after running an errand it was even messier than before. Finally the rest of the
servants went home for the night, leaving the Doctor alone, until Mrs. Sinh returned the next
morning and shooed him off to bed. Since no one was around to remove his shackles the
Doctor collapsed on the bed and fell asleep immediately with them still on.

He was so tired he didn't even hear the door creak open a few hours later, or hear the soft
footsteps of someone tiptoeing towards his bed. He yelped and tried to jump away as
something suddenly pounced on him and pinned him into place, bouncing up and down on
the bed and giggling. He cracked one eye open enough to see an attack of blonde hair.

"Mornin', Sleeping Beauty!"

"Rose!"

The Doctor launched himself at his companion, tackling her with a hug that was made quite
awkward by the fact that his hands were still bound together in the shackles. He ignored that
and looped them over her head instead so he could wrap his arms around her. Rose returned
the hug in favor, still laughing quietly in relief. The Doctor found himself joining her. "How
did you – When did - What?" The Doctor sputtered into her hair.

Rose giggled at him. "I see your talent with words hasn't changed one bit."

"Oi, shut it! You caught me by surprise." The Doctor defended himself with a tone of false
indignation. "What are you doing here? I thought you were still in Eyal."
Rose shook her head. Her tongue was sticking out between her teeth, a little pink dot between
all the white. "That Jancon guy bought me. I dunno why, he's not done anything with me so
far. He's just kinda…lettin' me be." She quirked her head to the side, still biting on her
tongue. Her eyes ran over the bags under his eyes, the slight crookedness of his nose. "You've
looked better."

"You haven't." He wasn't lying. Her skin wasn't only looking healthy again, but tanned and
glowing, not like it had just been cooped up under artificial lighting for weeks, and her hair
looked washed and cared for. It was braided back into two plaits with a few loose strands
curling and framing her face. But it wasn't just that. She was smiling. She was hugging him
back with the same enthusiasm as him, as she'd always had. She wasn't shying away or
flinching. So very, very different from how she had acted back in that auction room, the last
time he had seen her.

But even apart from all of that, the Doctor was three hundred percent sure that in that exact
moment she was the most beautiful thing he had ever laid eyes on.

Rose blushed. "Yeah, well, two and a half days of rest and relaxation really help to lift the
spirits. And Ilaria gave me this skin cream…I'm ninety percent sure it's just miracles in a
bottle. "

The Doctor suddenly frowned. "Two and a half days? You've been here two and a half days?"

"Yeah, I was bought the same day as you. Didn't they tell you?"

The Doctor just shook his head before pausing, a resentfully smile forming on his lips as it all
clicked together. "Oh, that was a clever play. He knew I was going to say yes. And I guess if I
didn't he always had you to bribe me even further."

"Doctor, what are you talking about?" Rose sat back as the Doctor's face suddenly darkened.
He glared at the wall, hands forming into fists. Rose carefully reached over and began to rub
his upper arm, watching him curiously.

"He wants me to do something terrible, Rose." Rose's face lost a shade of color she had only
just recently regained as she asked what it was. The Doctor shrugged with one shoulder. "I
don't know, he hasn't told me yet, but I know it has something to do with the Tarmaggon
Trials, and he was – or maybe still is – planning on using you as leverage to make me do it."

"He told me he purchased you to free you." The Doctor turned to his companion sharply,
question marks all over his face. "That's what he told me when I woke up here, that he bough
me and you in order to set us free. Said something about how Time Lords being in a cage was
wrong and humans having rights or something. I thought that's why we were here."

The Doctor shook his head. "Maybe for you. That's what I bargained for, told him I'd do
whatever this project of his was as long as he bought you and set you free. Ow!" Rose
punched him in the arm. "What was that for?"

"You knew it was something terrible and yet you still agreed to it?" She looked exasperated
and angry. The Doctor just gaped at her.
"Of course I did!" He shot back. "I did it for you, Rose. I would have bargained away my
TARDIS if it meant getting you out of that horrible place."

"Well you shouldn't have. We could've figured something out –"

"No, I couldn't!" The Doctor suddenly stated forcefully. Rose fell silent. Her brown eyes
widened as she saw the look of anger and desperation on the Doctor's face. "I couldn't come
up with something else. I tried. I tried for weeks, Rose, and there was nothing I could do. I
was useless in there. I couldn't find you. I couldn't stop them from hurting you. I was
completely weak, completely pathetic. I should have been protecting you."

"Stop it!" Rose snapped loudly. "Just stop it, alright! I don't want to hear about that place
anymore. You need to quit blaming yourself; you do this every time something bad happens.
This was not your fault."

"I'm responsible for you, Rose." Suddenly his eyes were glistening with tears. "I asked you to
come travel with me knowing the dangers out there and I still let it happen. But never again."
He abruptly sounded very resolute. "After this I'm taking you back to Earth."

Rose gawked at him. "Like hell you are!"

"You could have died."

"I didn't."

"But not just this time. With the Daleks, the werewolf, the Cybermen –"

"Just shut up, will you. You act like me coming with you as a one-sided decision. I wanted to
come! I left with you, you didn't force me! This is my choice and I'm stayin', and that's final."

"Oh, you sound just like your mother."

"And that's exactly what you'll be sending me back to." Rose crossed her arms. "And I'd just
love to see you try to get rid of me."

The Doctor dipped his head, defeated. He really didn't have a say in anything anymore, did
he? Truly embracing the slave life. He didn't want her there. He didn't want to see her in
danger any more. He didn't want to see her hurt.

Silence fell between them as Rose accepted her victory before she broke it just as suddenly.
"Now what are these…Triangle Trials?"

"Tarmaggon." The Doctor corrected automatically. He glanced up at his companion, who was
staring at him expectantly. He gave a great sigh and readjusted the pillows so he could lean
against the wall beside her.

"The Trials are a sort of game put on by the elite of the Tarmaggon system – that's the solar
system adjacent to us right now. But it's known throughout the galaxy due to its reputation of
being a bloodbath for the participants. It was made illegal years ago, but apparently nothing
is illegal if you have enough money." The Doctor added bitterly.
"So, what happens in the game? Is it like Mortal Kombat or something? Fight to the death?"

"Yes…and no." Rose rolled her eyes at how unhelpful that comment was. "It's more like tag
and hide-and-go-seek and the Hunger Games and hunting all jumbled up into one fun-filled
excuse to gamble away ridiculous amounts of money."

"Well, that sounds pleasant." The Doctor laughed darkly at her remark.

"No, it's not. What happens is that each participating sponsor has a competitor – usually a
slave or gladiator-type volunteer – who is thrown into a sort of giant maze in which they're all
fighting to reach the end. Some sponsors promise their competitors freedom and payment if
they get across the line first, which is enough motivation for anyone who's forced to compete.
Inside the maze, there are no rules the competitors need to follow, which pretty much means
it turns into a free-for-fall killing spree."

"There's the Hunger Games bit." Rose added with a look of disgust. The Doctor nodded.

"But it's not only the other competitors you need to look out for. There are also Snatchers
who patrol the maze corridors. They get to travel around in nice hover cars, searching for the
competitors. If a competitor gets caught by one of the snatchers, they are disqualified and the
sponsor of that competitor owes all the other sponsors a certain amount of money. The last
competitor standing or the first to cross the finish line wins…but not many make it to the
line, and those who do are generally so injured they die soon afterwards."

"That's kind of like this game we used to play as kids back home." The Doctor snapped
around to look at her, absolutely appalled. She quickly raised her hands and tried to backtrack
the statement. "Not anywhere even remotely close to being like that." She clarified. "It's this
game we called Cops and Criminals. The Criminals had to get from the petrol station on the
corner all the way to the Tesco eight blocks down. The Cops roamed the area between and if
they saw a Criminal had to call out the correct name in order to 'catch' them."

"Yeah, not really the same at all, Rose." The Doctor muttered as he rubbed the back of his
neck.

"No, I guess not." Rose bit her lower lip. "So what does he want you to do? Are you…are
you going to be his competitor or something?"

"Naw, Jancon's already got one of those. I don't know though, he was going to fill me in
today."

"Have you met them yet?" Rose asked suddenly. "I mean, more than just meeting him in
Eyal."

"Yeah, I have. Briefly last night. It…wasn't really pleasant."

"They're weird, aren't they?" Whispered Rose. The Doctor quirked an eyebrow. "I mean, have
you talked to that Ilaria woman yet?"

"Only a little bit." The Doctor crinkled his nose. "She kept calling me pretty."
Rose huffed. "Only you would complain about a compliment."

"But why'd she have to keep saying 'pretty'? Why couldn't it be 'ruggedly handsome' or
'devilishly good-looking'?"

"Anyway," Rose cut in. "I don't really think they're all together in the head. Just last night I
was talking to her and half the time she was all haughty and self-important, and then
suddenly she'd go on acting like we'd been best friends since grade school."

The Doctor pulled his legs up to his chest. "Sane or insane, I'll be staying away from that one.
Besides, whatever Jancon's planning for me sounds like it should be keeping me pretty busy.
Speaking of which." The Doctor stood up from the bed. "I think it's about time I found out
what the price of your freedom is."

He held one of his chained hands out to Rose, who took it with a sideways smile and let him
pull her off the bed. The Doctor frowned as she straightened out the periwinkle dress she was
wearing. It was the first time he noticed it. "You're not wearing black." He stated dumbly.

Rose glanced up, brushing blonde hair from her eyes. "No. Should I be?"

The Doctor shook his head, still frowning. Coria's words from last night suddenly came back
to him as he peered down at his own black ensemble. Those in slavery are required to wear
only black clothes. Her hands weren't chained together either. "Ilaria gave me this skin
cream" She had said. "And then suddenly she'd go on acting like we'd been best friends since
grade school."None of that sounded like how a mistress should be treating a slave…

"Don't worry, Doctor." Rose squeezed his hand, leaning her head against his upper arm as
they walked towards the door together. "We'll come up with a plan. We always do."

"Yeah, it's just taking a bit longer than usual."

"Well that just means it's going to be that much better."

The Doctor squeezed her hand back. "God, how I've missed you, Rose Tyler."

"Quite right to." She chimed in with a posh accent.

There was no one to greet them outside the Doctor's room, which had remained unlocked
after Rose snuck in, but the Doctor's shackles were already on so he technically wasn't
breaking any rules leaving. The chain jingled noisily as they walked. The Doctor had to keep
one hand right in front of himself as Rose had taken up the other and the chain wasn't quite
long enough to allow it comfortably.

Rose seemed fine at first glance, with her smile and her usual quick words and fiery attitude,
but as they walked on in silence the Doctor could sense her jumpy eyes scanning their
surroundings and feel her shiver occassionally, despite the warm day. The dress she was
wearing hardly would have protected her from the cold anyway. It was cut in a classical
Grecian style with braided straps that criss-crossed over her open back, showing off a lot of
skin, and the skirt was made of a thin, loose fabric that swirled around her ankles. The Doctor
couldn't decide if he wanted to laugh or gape at her wearing it; it was so un-Rose-like to wear
such a dress, and yet she looked absolutely stunning in it. The Doctor could only assume,
however, that this was the only outfit option she had been given.

"Doctor, you're staring." Rose pointed out without looking at him.

"No I'm not."

"Yes, you are. What's up?"

The Doctor contemplated for a moment before settling with, "You look beautiful." He did not
wish to trouble her with his observations. If she was content with putting on a false smile in
hopes of – what he knew was supposed to be – reassuring him, he wasn't going to crush it.
They could both use the forged sense of comfort.

Rose blushed intensely before she tensed once more, fingers tightening around the Doctor's.
"Prebassador. Three o'clock." She murmured in a rushed voice, eyes casting down and to the
side. There it was, the Doctor thought with a pang of sorrow and guilt.

He brushed it away and looked to where she indicated. Jancon came striding across the
sloping lawns straight towards them. His hands were clasped casually behind his back as he
approached.

The Doctor forced a convincing smile on his face as he covertly stepped slightly in front of
Rose a few feet away from the Prebassador. "Ah, master! Just the man I was looking for." He
said in a cheery voice.

Jancon smiled pleasantly in return "Good morning to you as well, John Smith. I was just on
my way to meet you. Thorn." The last comment confused the Doctor, and even more so when
Jancon turned to Rose with a smile and gave her a short bow as he said it. Rose couldn't help
but blush. She knew this man was dangerous and possibly deranged, but damn he could be
charming at times. It made it slightly difficult to see him as the cold-blooded killer the Doctor
described the Trial's sponsors to be.

"I see the lovers have been reunited at last. I hope it was a pleasant reunion." He cast a
genuine grin between the two.

"It was indeed." The Doctor smiled agreeably, although none of the offered friendliness met
his eyes, which were currently drilling into Jancon's like a power tool.

"Ilaria will be pleased to hear it. She does love her romantic stories." He chuckled softly and
Rose grinned as well as if that were some kind of inside joke the two shared. The Doctor
glanced between his companion and master, eyes narrowing. What had Rose been up to over
the last two and a half days? And why had he called her 'Thorn'?

"Ilaria waits for you in the garden, Miss Thorn." There it was again. "I believe she went out
this morning and spent all my hard earned money on authentic Earth tealeaves, so I suggest
you hurry along before she finds another relic of your home planet to purchase. She does go
through her obsessions."
"Umm…" Rose looked anxiously up at the Doctor. "Actually, I was hoping I could stay with
the Doc – I mean John, for a little while longer."

Jancon shook his head. "I am sorry, but I must speak with my new slave privately. Perhaps if
he is not too busy later I will arrange for another time for you to visit. Off you pop."

It was not a suggestion and both Rose and the Doctor knew it. Rose squeezed his hand one
more time before trudging up the grassy slopes towards the estate's vast gardens, lifting up
the skirts of her ridiculous – yet, the Doctor admitted, gorgeous – dress as she walked. She
shot one look over her shoulder as she went and the Doctor nodded minimally, encouraging
her to go.

The Doctor turned his attention back to Jancon, who was studying him again like an
interesting specimen under a microscope. "I feel like you just talked about setting us up on a
playdate. Can the next one be at Chuck E Cheese's?"

"That's enough, Time Lord." Jancon's said. His voice had quite suddenly dropped the friendly
bounce it had while Rose was with them, though it hadn't quite reached the same level of
unpleasantness as it had the night before. "I've come to discuss my plans with you."

"Discuss away." The Doctor replied welcomingly. "I'm all ears. No, wait, wrong mouse."
Jancon just stared at him. "Radio Disney? You know…the kids stations…on Earth? No?
Blimey, and I thought Shelwick was supposed to be going through a vintage Earth phase. No
matter. What horrendous deed do you wish of me, master." The Doctor bowed deeply and,
more to the point, sarcastically. Jancon sighed exasperatedly.

"Walk with me, Time Lord." He turned across the lawns in the opposite direction Rose had
just gone, and the Doctor followed obediently, curious and apprehensive about what was
about to be revealed to him. Jancon led him around the edge of the estate and passed the
servants door the Doctor used the night before. As they walked, he spoke. "If my knowledge
holds truth, then it is true the Time Lords of old were masters in all arts of math and science,
am I correct?"

"Well, we tried to be modest about it." The Doctor sniffed in an obvious act to be exactly the
opposite of modest.

Jancon approached another door set far away from the main front of the house. A guard stood
watch in front of it. He nodded respectfully and pulled the door open for him. Jancon stepped
through, the Doctor following anxiously. Guards made him nervous, despite himself. He tried
not to look up as the guard glared at him. He wondered if these guards carried around cattle-
prods as well or if they had another means of keeping the slaves in line.

"I am glad to hear it." Jancon resumed speaking once they were inside. The hallway they
entered was small, narrow, and dimly lit, and the Doctor was sure he could feel a distinct
downwards slant in the floor. They were going underground, beneath the very estate. What
could possibly be down there? "I do not make a habit of walking these halls," The
Prebassador said as he saw the unease in the Doctor's eyes. "However, you will, so overcome
whatever fear you have of being beneath ground right now, or else you will be making your
stay rather uncomfortable for yourself. This way."
They turned and went down a flight of stairs that led them even further underground and then
to a door equipped with a print-recognition lock. Jancon placed his finger upon the small pad
next to it and the door slid open. The Doctor froze at the sight.

Beyond the door was a giant gym-like room with outrageously high walls and ceiling. They
must be much further underground then he originally thought. There were machines lining
one of the vast walls along with various exercise equipment from many different cultures. A
colossal ropes course took up half the room with so many platforms and ladders and rungs
and obstacles the Doctor's mind began to ring just trying to take them all in. And in the
closest corner was a large padded area with a sort of boxing ring in the middle where two
men were sparring viciously. One wore padding while the other was clad only in black
exercise pants, his muscular bare chest glistening with sweat. He glanced up for only a
moment when he heard the door open and the other took the advantage, ramming his fist into
his competition's nose and socking him in the stomach before sweeping the feet out from
under him. He fell like a rock to the floor with a great groan. "Get up!" The other shouted.
"You form is weak, your attacks clumsy, and you are easily distracted! You will last a grand
total of five minutes in there if you keep up this shit!"

"Your competitor, I assume?" The Doctor inquired. Jancon just ground his teeth
disappointedly as the man crawling back to his feet before jerking his head to the side,
indicating that the Doctor was to follow him down another hallway. It led away from the
giant gym until the grunts and shouts of the training faded away and they came to another
locked door. So much security…Jancon ushered the Doctor though and the sight that met him
hardly put the anxiety in his stomach at ease. In fact, it did the exact opposite.

Though not as large as the gym, the room Jancon pushed the Doctor into was vast and
oppressing all the same. The floors were made of starched white tiles to match the walls,
giving the room a very sterile, eternal look. Tables and countertops were strewn with glass
instruments, machines, tools and vials and gas gages and grids of empty chemical vats. The
Doctor spun around, trying to take in every angle and object.

It was a lab. A very well stocked and provided for lab. But what were they using it for. And
what were they planning to do with him in it? The Doctor swallowed an irrational lump of
fear as the image of Bachir formed behind his eyes, condemning him to a laboratory to be
studied and tested and dissected for the good of their insane government. Vadim standing
over him with a scalpel painted orange with his blood. He shook his head to rid himself of the
images. No, Jancon had just asked him if he had a mind for science. He was expected to be
the scientist, not the subject.

"Impressive, is it not?" Said the Prebassador. "I've been collecting bits and pieces for a while
now, under the guidance of a scientific advisor to the Republic that I have paid off quite
handsomely. Unfortunately, his knowledge does not quite reach the level I require. He said
the deed of which I ask is impossible to do."

"And what, exactly, is that?" The Doctor was getting tired of Jancon avoiding the main point
of their conversation. If he wanted a guided tour of the estate he would have asked.

Jancon began to pace around the Doctor, picking up a measuring instrument from a nearby
table and inspecting it for a moment. The Doctor's patience nearly snapped when Jancon
finally spoke again.

"It came to my attention not long ago that my rival, the good and noble Manisiotis, has taken
over monopoly of hiring the Snatchers for the Trials." The Doctor didn't see how this was a
problem, or how he was expected to do about it. Usually the appointment of Snatchers was
taken on by several of the sponsors, but it was not unheard of for one to offer paying the price
for all of them. Often a majority of the men's work would be covered by the previous victor,
as a sign of good sportsmanship and humility.

"It has also come to my attention," Jancon continued in a lower, more scathed voice. "That
Manisiotis had commanded the men to search primarily for the competitor of the house of
Ligtech. And as you could probably tell from that show only moments ago, that worthless
bastard I paid good coin for probably won't make it through his first skirmish with a pack of
properly trained Snatchers, as they are. So," He glanced up at the Doctor, who was peering
him warily beneath his lowered brow, as if to see if the Time Lord was starting to get his
meaning. The Time Lord was. "I would have it that the Snatchers be adequately yet covertly
dispatched of prior to my competitor's capture."

The Doctor raised an eyebrow. He still didn't see how this had anything to do with him. What
could he do about that; he wouldn't even be in the same area as them, Jancon already had his
competitor.

Jancon continued to pace. "I do not know how much you are aware of the rules of the Trials.
The way the system is set up now, once a band of Snatchers acquire one competitor, they are
allowed to return to the maze once their captive is removed. I would like it that these men
would be made unable to continued their hunt; the less Snatchers against my man, the better.
And what is a more certain way to ensure they do not return than death."

The Doctor's jaw hardened instantly. "Death." The word tasted sour on his tongue. Jancon
wanted him to kill them…but how? Where did the lab come in. "And how do you expect that
to be done? I won't be in the maze, how do you suppose I'd be of any use. Unless you want
me to poison them first, in which case it should be easy enough for someone like you to
acquire the right drug."

"No, poison is too obvious. And it will be discovered, for each man who plays as a Snatcher
is given the privilege of a proper burial, including an autopsy, in which the deed would surely
be unveiled and an investigation instigated. The competitors, however, are considered as
slaves, and therefore have no such right upon death."

"So…wait. You want me to poison the competitors? How does that make any sense? If the
other competitors are dead, they will have even more reason to focus on your man."

"It is not a poison I demand, though, but a virus." The Doctor froze. He was beginning to
figure out that Jancon intended, but how was still a mystery to him. Even if a virus were
given to the competitors, how would that affect the Snatchers, unless it was a quick
contagion?

"I know of a particular disease originating from Earth that fits the criteria for what I need."
Jancon continued. "It is known there as Rhabdoviridae."
Well…that was a surprise. "Rabies?!"

Jancon nodded, glad the slave was finally catching up. "The very same. I have seen its affect
before. Encephalitis is a nasty business, causing brain inflammation, seizures, headaches –"

"Yes, I know the symptoms." He interrupted, feeling his stomach clench. Jancon smiled
cruelly.

"And my personal favorite," He went on. "Madness. Loyal dogs attacking once beloved
masters, mindless with fury and a taste for death. Heightening the affect of the excitative
stage of disease would help increase the turn towards aggression and violence."

"You want me to inject the other competitors with a mutated strain of rabies so that they'll kill
for you." The realization came with a numb sense of disgust. His words came out in a low,
quiet growl, repulsion dripping off each syllable.

"And then succumb to the expected paralysis and death of the virus, burying any loose ends
to connect them to my cause." He looked so proud of himself, smirking as he leaned against
the countertop. "But that is not the difficult part." He added hastily. "Any half-studied
scientist could increase the amount of encephalitis found in the disease. It's controlling it that
truly troubles me. With the original strain, incubation time could take up to eight months. I
would need it instantly and at the touch of a finger – or rather remote, as it will be. I wish to
have full control over when the virus will be released into their system."

The Doctor shook his head. "Not only is what you ask for revolting, it is also impossible.
Viruses from the Mononegavirales order don't lay dormant and are unpredictable."

"Unless attached to the correct catalysts and control chemicals."

The Doctor growled in frustration. "But even so, how do you expect them to carry the virus.
If you mix it with a catalyst there is nothing to stop it from taking affect as soon as it's
injected. The competitors wouldn't even make it into the maze, let alone far enough to
unwillingly massacre everything in their sights."

Jancon seemed to have an answer for everything. A fact that showed on his smug, gray face.
"Each competitor is tagged with a microchip for tracking and surveillance within the maze.
An acquaintance of mine is responsible for the manufacturing of these chips. He ensures me
that a small section of each chip will be left open for a built-in dissolvable capsule to be
placed. The capsule cover will be controlled by a singular remote which I will have beside
me at all times during the live viewing. Inside will be the virus you develop, and once
released it will rampage through the central nervous system."

The Doctor snorted at the egotistical sneer gracing his master's face. He turned away and
tried to brush off the seriousness of the previous few minutes. It was possible, yes, but the
Doctor wasn't about to tell this psychotic, delusional, power-hungry Tarmaggon that. He
wasn't about to play that game.

"Well, you should listen more to your man. It can't be done." He said with finality.
Jancon smiled knowingly. "Oh, yes it can. I can see it in your eyes." He stepped closer, sizing
up the man before him. "Your people once harnessed the power of Time. If your mind can
claim mastery over that of such an illusive science, then how can it not for such a simple
biological trick?"

"Can and will are two very different concepts, Prebassador." The Doctor growled
menacingly.

"Then it is agreed that you can do it. And you will do it, John."

"And murder countless innocent people in the act?"

"Or harm the woman you love." The Prebassador countered with ease, confident smile
growing with each second. "It is your choice, although something tells me know exactly
which you will choose, just as I do."

The Doctor leaned against the opposite counter and crossed his arms, glaring hard. "Then you
are mistaken. Rose would never thank me for such a thing, and we both know you won't lay a
hand on her. Your wife favors her, and the planet's people you represent and serve would be
in upheaval if they ever discovered you were treating a human in such a way. You can't afford
that kind of publicity to leak into the public."

Silence pressed between them, pressurized and volatile, as Jancon gnawed thoughtfully on
his lower lip. The Doctor did not dare reduce his glower. The Storm brewed behind his eyes.
He would not do this. Could not do this. Even though it was only a few lives of the retched
and murderous that would be taken, this kind of virus could not be allowed to fall into
distrustful hands. If it were ever taken further than the Trials' maze – onto an entire planet, for
instance – the affects would be devastating. Neighbor turning on neighbor without cause or
will, destroying the opposition for the hand who dealt out the disease in the first place
without them ever having to lift a finger. It would be genocide in the cruelest and most
dishonorable way; and the Doctor would not have his hands play in another massacre. Not let
them be painted red with even more blood than was already upon them.

"So you will not do this for me?" Jancon finally stated, not sounded the least bit disappointed.
The Doctor raised his chin defiantly.

"No."

Jancon sighed and pressed his hands against the table. "Fine. Have it your way, Mr. Smith.
The guards will see that are you taken care of." The Doctor spun around as he heard footsteps
coming through the laboratory's door. Two guards appeared, standing at attention to await
their master's orders. The Doctor felt his hearts palpate at the sight of them, but he fought to
keep on his stoic mask. He couldn't let Jancon see that he feared their presence.

The Prebassador pushed away from the counter and went to leave. The Doctor stood
straighter as he approached and stopped at his shoulder, pausing dramatically for a moment
before whispering, "And I never said the harm to your woman would be physical." He turned
to the guards. "Seize him. Bring him to the servant's yard and summon Miss Rose. It's time
for our new slaves to discover the price of their defiance."
 Chapter 29

Three Days Earlier

"Where is he?" Rose demanded of the man who just entered the room moments earlier. He
clearly was not one of her captors; his eyes weren't orange and his skin was a dark gray
tone, like charcoal burning to white. By his strange appearance and the way he held himself
as if he were ten feet tall and the most important being in the universe, there was only one
person he could be

"My. Perhaps you are the one they needed to muzzle." The Prebassador laughed good-
naturedly. Rose didn't.

"Where is he?" She asked again. She was certainly acting much braver than she felt. She was
standing alone in a room with a strange man who could easily overpower her – in fact was
probably expected to. She had nothing to defend herself with…and he was walking closer.
"What – what did you do with him?" She insisted even as she took an unsure step backwards.

The man looked her over curiously. "I am assuming by your demanding questions that you
already know who I am and what I am here for. And I assume as well that you are speaking of
your mate, John Smith?"

Rose didn't question the alias. She was used to him going by his favorite earth name. She had
accused it of being too dull last time he was forced to use it, but now she liked how simple it
was, easy to remember.

"Yeah, I am. Now tell me where he is or – or I'll –"

The Prebassador interrupted her suddenly with a laugh. "What? What will you do to me,
little Earth girl?"

"Well, you ain't gonna want to be around to find out, that's for sure." She snapped back. He
chuckled again, only helping to fuel her anger, instant hatred, and – fear? – of him.

"I believe your keeper informed me that he once called you 'Rose'." His eyes glanced over her
again. She was in a fighting stance, feet spaced a shoulder's width apart, one hand resting
ready on the small table beside her while the other was balled into a fist at her side. "More
like the thorn than the flower, really." He mused to himself. "Beautiful, but sharp. Dangerous.
Protective."

Rose didn't respond. She shifted uncomfortably under his scrutiny. Then suddenly his eyes
were no longer on her. "I assure you, Miss Thorn," He smiled a bit at his own nickname. "I
mean neither you nor your mate any harm. I recently met with him and the paperwork for his
purchase is all ready to be signed and the money ready to be transferred. However," Jancon
moved to sit down at one of the chairs by the table. He indicated for Rose to join him in the
opposite seat, but she ignored him. He shrugged and went on. "The Eyal Company seems to
have overlooked a very important fact about your mate. They don't seem to know his
species."

"He's human." Rose said quickly. "Just like me."

Jancon smiled at her. "A convincing cover, I'm sure, due to the similarities in appearances
and physiology. But I have been looking at the records of your dear John Smith and have
discovered the truth. Ah – "He held up a hand quickly as Rose opened her mouth to speak.
How could he know? Did he tell Eyal? The Doctor had been adamant about them not
knowing what he was. Who he was. What if? "I assure you, my Thorn,"

"It's Rose."

"I have not revealed his secret to Eyal. If he wishes to keep his species concealed from them,
then I can only assume it is for a good reason. And I can also assure you that my presence
here is for a good reason as well. Please, sit."

Hesitantly, Rose pulled the back of the chair away from the table and slowly lowered herself
into the chair. Her legs were sore from a workout her keeper had been having her do before
the auction started and she admitted to herself that it was nice to be able to sit down on
something soft.

"As I said before," The Prebassador continued, "I have access to the records kept of all stock
passing through Eyal's halls. When I came across that of Male Designation 196305, I was
intrigued to realize what he really was. I doubt your keeper or anyone else is listening in, but
just to be certain I will refrain from saying it out loud. I have always held an interest in your
mate's kind. A fascination, if you will, born of childhood myths and fueled by the resources at
my disposal. I heard rumors that they did once exist, and even wilder rumors that there was
still one alive this day. A creature so ancient and noble has no place behind cage doors,
begin sold off to any beggar with a pretty penny. So I am here to ensure his majesty remains
intact by removing him from such a place."

Rose frowned. "Wait, so…you're freeing him?"

"Eventually, yes," The Prebassador said with a smile, glad the human girl was keeping up. "I
have one small favor I need to ask of him, mostly due to my adoration of his kind and
curiosity, but once that is completely I will sign his papers of release and he will forever be a
free man in this system."

Rose couldn't help the sigh of relief that passed her lips. If the Doctor got out, he could easily
get back to the TARDIS and come rescue her from this hell-hole. They would be free once
again.

"However," Jancon interrupted her happy thoughts, the single word connoting bad news
forming a stone in Rose's stomach. "Because Eyal never noticed his true worth, I arrived here
with much more money available to be spent than he costs. Which leaves room for me to
purchase one more slave." He gave Rose a meaningful look. Her breath wavered.
"You mean me?" The Prebassador smiled charmingly at her. She had to admit, he was rather
good-looking. She felt herself blushing even as she thought it.

"John Smith's mate or not, I can hardly sit back and watch such a beautiful creature as
yourself waste away in this hellish place. No human should have to undergo such torment.
That is why I am willing to purchase you as well."

Rose felt a smile flicker to life on her face, the first smile she's worn since the Doctor was
torn away from her.

"I will do this," The Prebassador said seriously. "If you promise me one thing, Thorn."

"What?"

"Help me keep your mate on the right track." He cocked his head to the side, his gray eyes
shining with sympathy and concern. "He is not in a good place right now and I fear he may
not thrive in my care before he will be allowed to go free. I only wish for his health as well as
yours. Will you help me ensure he makes the right decisions?"

Rose didn't entirely get why this was a question. Of course she was going to make sure the
Doctor make the right decisions. She didn't understand why the Prebassador kept
accentuating this, but she nodded anyway, barely able to keep her smile from her face. They
were getting out of this place. They were going to be together. They were going to be free.

"Of course I'll help."

"Rose, dear, are you listening to me?"

Rose jumped as the voice penetrated her memories. Ilaria was peering at her worriedly, her
elegant brow creased as she turned her head slightly to the side. Rose sat up straighter in her
chair and brushed a strand of hair from her eyes.

"Yeah. Sorry. I was just…thinking."

"Hmm." Ilaria turned away from the topic with an indifferent smile. "Well, I don't make it a
habit of pouring tea myself, but you've gone through quite an ordeal, so I will do the honors."
She tipped the tea pot over, pouring the steaming brown liquid into a cup and passing it to
Rose. The human gingerly took it. The tea threatened to spill over the side from her shaking
hands.

Ilaria clearly noticed but decided not to address it. Ordering the girl to stop being so nervous
only seemed to increase her anxiety. So instead she took a sip of her tea, savoring the tang of
earth's herbs, and set her cup back down.

"So, tell me of your mate. Was your reunion rewarding?"

Rose just stared down at her own cup as a small smile formed. "Yeah, it was nice seeing him
again."
Ilaria waited for a second, but it was apparent the girl wasn't about to continue, so she
prompted her on. "And did you do as I instructed?"

The smile vanished from Rose's lips at the casually stated question. The shaking increased to
the point where she had to set down her cup and cross her arms to hide the evidence. "Yes."
She muttered into her folded arms.

"Oh, come now, Rose." Ilaria said as she sat up to reach for a pastry on the table. They were
sitting outside in a beautiful garden area with colorful flowers and tree surrounding them on
three sides, the other taken up by the wall of the estate. Somewhere a creek laughed as it
tripped over rocks and reeds. It should have been peaceful. Ilaria inspected the pastry as she
spoke. "How hard is it really to smile and laugh?"

"Harder than you might think." Rose murmured quietly enough that the woman didn't hear
her.

"And is it not for a good cause? He thinks you happy and content. He isn't worrying about
you as you claim he always does. And a worried mind is a distracted mind."

"He knows." Rose stated suddenly. Ilaria, in the middle of a bite, turned to her curiously. "He
always knows when something's wrong. When someone's lying to him."

She said the last part quietly as she folded even more into herself. Ilaria looked over her with
sympathy before leaning forward and carefully prying Rose's hands apart. The human looked
up at her, fear flashing momentarily behind her eyes, but Ilaria held them steady.

"Then let it not be a lie. You have no need to be fearful anymore, Rose. You are gone from
that place now. If it were not cruel to demand it, I would have you smiling and laughing
around me as well. I do not care for this dour mood you are setting."

Rose tried to force herself to smile. "It was nice seeing him again." She admitted. It hadn't all
been an act like it was right now. Seeing the Doctor again had made her smile less strained,
made her laughter come easier. She hadn't thought that, after everything she had been through
these last six weeks, she would ever be able to smile again, but seeing how his face lit up
when he saw her made it almost impossible not to. She was safe with him, and even though
he hated himself for not being able to protect her she couldn't do the same. He was always
there for her. How had she forgotten that? How had she allowed those bastards at Eyal to
convince her otherwise?

"Well, I am glad." Ilaria sat back looking quite pleased with herself. They sat in silence for a
while longer, listening to the birds fluttering through the leaves, untroubled and free. Rose
sipped at her tea. It wasn't quite what she was used to, but it reminded her of home
nonetheless.

Suddenly heavy footsteps broke through the peaceful quite of the garden. Both Rose and
Ilaria spun around, the older woman a little more gracefully as Rose nearly dropped her tea
cup in surprise. Two guards appeared beside their little patio walking purposefully towards
Rose. She tried not to look too small as they approached, hardening her features into an
expressionless mask.
"What is the meaning of this?" Ilaria asked, not sounding the least bit pleased that they had
interrupted tea time.

"Apologies, my lady, but the girl is summoned."

Rose felt a little color drain from her face. Why? Why were they here for her? What were
they going to do?

Ilaria seemed to be thinking along the same lines. "And for what purpose? She is serving me
at this moment."

"Again, apologies." The other guard said, stepping forward. "But the Prebassador has
requested her presence." The suddenly his hand was around Rose's upper arm, aiming to pull
her out of the chair. It wasn't rough or painful, but Rose instantly felt a rush of panic assault
her. She tried to pull away, which only made the hand grip her tighter. Her eyes widened like
a frightened animal.

"Release her!" Ilaria shouted as she jumped to her feet. "Can you not see you're hurting her!"
The hand released its hold and Rose stumbled backwards, trying to get as far away form the
guard without running away. Her back pressed lightly against the tea table as she held her
own hand to her upper arm as if the skin there had been burned.

"Did I not instruct the guards not to touch her?" Hissed Ilaria. "She's frightened. She has been
a victim of horrendous crimes –"

"And she will not be again." The first guard interrupted with a look of boredom. "I assure
you, my lady, we have no intention of harming your human. She has simply been
summoned."

Ilaria glared at the for a moment longer before her entire defensive aura vanished, leaving her
with a flippant expression. "Well, alright." She conceded as she plopped back down in her
chair as if none of her outbreak had just happened. "Take her, I guess. Just have her returned
to me once you're done with her."

She picked up her tea cup and took a casual sip while Rose gaped at her. There it was again,
just like how she'd been telling the Doctor. One moment Ilaria was acting like they were
bosom buddies, and the next as if Rose were as insignificant and pointless as a one of the
cobble stones in her garden patio: nice to look at but easy to tread over. So she squared her
shoulders and tried to look important on her own. "What does the Prebassador going to do
with me?"

"Your master isn't going to do anything to you." The guard's tone instantly shifted from
respectful to derogatory as he passed a sneering look over the human. "He wants you there to
observe the punishment of another slave. You get out of this one."

Rose felt like the world slip out from under her feet. "The Doct- I mean, John?!"

"How the hell would I know? Come on." The guard went to grab her again but she yanked
her arm away.
"Alright, I'm coming. And I can walk by myself, thanks."

She cast one last questioning look over her shoulder at Ilaria, who was staring off into the
distant trees as if none of this were happening right in front of her, and with a resigning sigh
followed the guards away. They brought her down the sloping lawn towards the servants
quarters where she found the Doctor earlier (she had been given a room in the main house)
but instead of heading towards the entrance they angled as if to go around the side. She didn't
like how close one of the guards was walking next to her and discretely shuffled away. Rose
hated being afraid, but her racing pulse and nervous breathing didn't seem to have received
that memo.

It was as they neared the servant's quarters that Rose heard the first resounding CRACK! She
froze instantly as a pained "Nnngnn…" followed. Without another moment of hesitation she
took off in a sprint, picking up the hem of her ridiculous dress in one hand. The guard
shouted after her but she ignored him, hurtling around the corner of the servant's quarters
only to slam once again into a stunned halt.

When the guards had said 'servant's yard' Rose immediately pictured a small courtyard,
maybe with grass, with clothes lines and servant's casually milling about, enjoying the
outdoors perhaps on a day off or a break. Instead, all that was there were two wooden posts
standing erect in the middle of the square patch of dirt. Between them hung the Doctor, wrists
chained to either post so his arms were pulled to either side. His back was to her, but where a
shirt should have been there were only rivets of blood covering his bare skin. A beefy and
vicious looking guard stood behind him with a whip in hand. He pulled his arm back, raising
it, swirling the whip around in the air above him so as to pick up momentum, before bringing
it down forcefully on the Doctor's already mutilated back.

Crack!

"Argggg…" The Doctor clearly struggled to keep the strangled noise from coming out.

"Stop! Stop it!" Rose shouted as she burst forward, ready to tackle the guard wielding the
whip. But she was grabbed from behind by a pair of strong arms wrapped around her waist.
She struggled, animalistic panic making her mind blur red, but the arms held tightly.

"Proceed." A voice announced from somewhere off to the side. The guard with the whip
quickly obliged by bringing the instrument down once more on the Doctor's back. His body
jerked, every muscle twitching in pain as he shouted out against his barred teeth.

"Leave him alone!" Rose tried to twist her way out of the arms holding her back. "Why'r'ya
doing this? Stop!"

The whip came down again and the Doctor's body convulsed. This time Rose heard a
faint zap come right after the lash made contact with his skin, and watching closely saw a
bright blue spark ignite along the tail of the whip. It was electric as well. Rose wanted to
vomit.

"Pause." The authoritative voice said again. The guard stepped back, wrapping the bloodied
whip around his arm. "I'm so sorry you must witness this, Thorn."
Jancon stepped into view beside the Doctor. The Time Lord was slumped in his bonds,
breathing heavily. Each breath pulled against the damage skin of his back and caused the
orange blood to rise to the surface and drizzle down his back even faster.

"However, your Time Lord has been rather insistent on disobeying. A fact that, solely
through his own actions, must unfortunately result in rather uncomfortable corrections." He
turned to the Doctor's back as if to inspect the gashes criss-crossing his skin. The Doctor's
shoulder twitched involuntarily, muscles in spasm from the amount of pain and electricity
they had just endured. Jancon hoisted up a stick he'd been playing with in the corner and
jabbed it into the Doctor's back, poking like a scientist might poke at the specimen under
dissection. Rose heard the Doctor hiss through his teeth as the stick pressed excruciatingly
into the fresh wounds. She kicked out unsuccessfully once more, but her attempt wasn't as
fueled as before. The presence of the man behind her as well as the Prebassador in front sent
a chill rippling down her spine.

"I don't take joy in hurting my slaves, Miss Thorn. In fact, I don't take much join in owning
them either. If you look around you will see that a majority of my staff are actually properly
employed servants. A privilege I originally extended out to you and Mr. Smith. However,
your Time Lord does not seem to wish to accept my offer, so I must give him a new one."
Jancon drove the point of the stick even further into the gash and the Doctor's was barely able
to bite down on the cry of pain rising through his throat. His spine tried to arch away from the
cause only to be held in range by the shackles around each wrist.

"Just stop, alright? You're hurting him!" Rose didn't care how obvious her statement was. Of
course they were hurting him. That was the whole point.

The Doctor's head lifted slightly at her voice. "R'se. Rose, s'okay." His voice barely carried
over to them. Jancon clapped him on the shoulder in a fatherly way, eliciting a groan from the
strung up alien.

"Unnecessary pain, my dear Thorn, if your mate had just agreed to do as I asked. But he was
adamant about his refusal, and therefore here we are. So," He held out his hand and the guard
dropped the bloody whip into his waiting palm. "We will continue with the punishment until
you can convince your dearly beloved to do as I say."

Rose's eyes darted over to the Doctor. She couldn't see his face from this position, but he
angled his head so she could see the corners of his deep brown eyes watching her from over
his shoulder. She waited for his instruction before turning her gaze back to Jancon and
stating. "No."

The Prebassador clearly had not been expecting that answer. He stared at Rose, taken aback.
"Excuse me."

"I said no." She stated a little more forcefully. "Whatever it is, if he's refusing to do it, then it
can't be good. And I trust 'im. So no." Her eyes flickered over to the Doctor again and maybe
it was just her imagination but she thought she could see a small smile in his pain filled eyes.

Jancon didn't need long to overcome this minor setback. "I appreciate your opinion on this
matter, Rose. Now, if you excuse me," He spun around and with a speed and strength Rose
didn't think the politician would have slammed the tail of the whip into the Doctor's side so
that the lash wrapped all the way around his torso in a full circle. Electricity cackled along
the leather length and the Doctor threw his head back with a howl that cut Rose's heart in
half. Viciously, the Prebassador yanked the whip back, tearing away the skin it had just made
contact with and cutting off the flow of electricity. The Doctor's body collapsed forward as if
the current had been the only thing holding him up. Jancon brought his arm back for another
assault.

"Wait!"

He turned to Rose with a conceitedly mocking look of curiosity. The whip hung limp and
unthreatening from his hand, much like the Time Lord it was tormenting.

"Just lemme talk to him for a moment." Rose negotiated. Jancon obliged with a nod and that
charmingly vain smile as the guard behind her released his hold from around her waist. She
scrambled out of his reach. Never taking her eyes off the Prebassador, Rose made her way
around the opposite side of the posts to the Doctor, taking his face in her hands with what she
hoped was a comforting touch.

"You okay."

The Doctor winced slightly. "You'd think…by now I'd be…more used t…to electricity." He
tried to joke. Rose took the cue and forced a smile.

"Let's just hope you don't get many more chances to get too friendly with it." The Doctor
laughed hoarsely.

"No." He agreed.

"What does he want you to do?" Rose asked abruptly. The Doctor looked like he was about to
launch into a long explanation, but a spasm suddenly erupted in his back, causing him to grit
his teeth instead. "Is it really bad?"

The Doctor sufficed it to just nod.

"Bad enough to be worth this?"

Glancing up at her as she continued to cup his cheeks in her hands, the Doctor looked her
deep in the eye, trying to gage exactly what she was thinking. When he didn't respond she
just took a quick breath. "Because I don't want to just sit here and watch you gettin' tortured."

"Rose –"

"No, tell me, Doctor. You don't need ta tell me exactly what it is, but is it really worth this."

In the second it took him to respond he didn't move his eyes from her own worried brown
orbs. "Yes." He saw her face fall slightly as he said it. "I'd be…killing people. Innocent
people."

"And you can't just be selfish for once?" Rose sighed.

The Doctor shook his head slightly. "I –"

Rose just nodded her understanding. "Alright then. No killing." She leaned forward and
pressed her lips to his forehead. It was salty with sweat, but Rose didn't care. She pressed her
own brow against his, trying to offer him a little bit more comfort before the pain began
again. She could hear him breathing in deeply, his eyes closing as he did so. "Do you
remember back in the auction room?"

The Doctor's eyes flew open, body tensing at the mere mention of that place and everything it
had done to them. Rose didn't wait for his acknowledgement before continuing. "You said
you loved me."

It wasn't a question. It wasn't a curiosity. It wasn't said out of some kind of need for
clarification or recognition. It was just said. As factually as that the sky on Shelwick was
turquoise and the grass on Earth was green.

But either way, the Doctor still responded, "Yes, I did."

Rose didn't react. He wasn't entirely sure what to make of that. But his mind wasn't
completely on her at the moment. It was concentrated mainly on controlling the ripples of
pain creeping up his back, nerves screaming as they were forced to meet fresh air where the
skin had been ripped off, blood oozing wet and sticky down what was left of his back.
Muscles still shook and twitched from where the electric whip sent shocks through his body,
and a few times Jancon had even entertained himself by pressing down on his silver remote
from the corner he stood in, watching the Time Lord's legs collapse out from under him as
electricity coursed up through his anklet. The pain was immense and constant, though the
Doctor had experienced worse and he would do so again.

Jancon seemed to get the jist of their decision. He stepped forward, pulling Rose away from
the Doctor before taking hold of the Time Lord's chin gently.

"It hurts, doesn't it?" He asked casually. The Doctor glared at him.

"I can handle it."

Jancon looked thoughtful. "Yes, I'm sure you can. But can she?"

The Doctor didn't even have time to cast him a questioning look before Rose was grabbed
once again and dragged towards the post. The human girl shrieked in surprise as the man
grabbed one of her wrists, wrenching it up near the Doctor's shackle. Another came forward
and managed to unlock the cuff before the Doctor's mind, sluggish from pain, was able to
decipher what was happening.

"What – what are you doing?"

Rose's hand was snapped into the cuff he had just vacated. Her eyes were wide and frantic.
"Let go of me!" She tried to writhe away from their hold but to no avail. The Doctor, now
held by only one shackle, just barely managed to keep on his feet as he spun on Jancon.
"You said you wouldn't harm her!" He bellow at the Prebassador.

"Words meant to be kept between good, honest men. You, Time Lord, have been neither good
nor honest. Lying about your abilities. Lying about your identity. And now disobeying your
master's commands. You are not even properly considered a man, just a slave. There are no
rules protecting verbal contracts with slaves, boy."

Fueled with pain and anger, the Doctor lunged at Jancon, ready to knock him to the ground
for even threatening to hurt Rose. But the remaining shackle jerked him backwards, the
Prebassador standing perfectly outside his reach. The movement sent a wave of pain running
up his back and his knees buckled sending him into the bloodstained sand underfoot.

"The pain must be excruciating." Jancon observed from where he stood towering over his
slave. "I do wonder how long she will last."

"I will kill you." Hissed the Doctor from the ground. He allowed the most amount of venom
he could muster into those four words, but somehow he thought they sounded weak. Jancon
looked thoughtful.

"You'll kill me so readily, yet not someone you've never met before?"

"In a hearts beat. Don't. Touch her."

Jancon smirked and snapped his fingers. The guard unclasped the Doctor's remaining shackle
and wasted no time kicking him facedown into the sand, twisting his arms behind his back
agonizingly and wrapping a cord around his wrists. He was yanked to his feet in time to see
Rose's other hand being forced into the newly vacated cuff. She struggled in vain against the
strong chains. "Lever her alone!"

"Doctor!"

"Stop it! Leave her out of this!"

"She will be excused from all further inclusion in this plan the moment you agree to complete
it, John." Jancon said rationally even as he passed the whip on to the beefy guard from
before. One of the men who had retrieve Rose earlier stepped forward and used a knife to
snap through the straps of her dress so the fabric fell to her waist, exposing her chest and
back. Rose gave a yelp of surprise and pulled even harder against the shackles. Skin broke
where the metal chafed against her wrists. Tears shone in her eyes, unable to be shed through
the sheer panic. The man ran a finger down her spine and she shivered visibly. Her mouth
formed the word 'please', but no sound came out.

The beefy guard moved his arm back and swiftly flicked.

"NO!"

Rose screamed. The Doctor's entire body crumbled. He collapsed to his knees even as the
guard tried to hold him up. His hearts shattered as Rose writhed against the whip's touch. She
tried so hard to look brave, but the Doctor could see right through it. This couldn't be
happening. How could this be happening? Why couldn't he protect her? Why was he so
weak? Why was he so pathetic?

The guard pulled his arm back again, ready to go in for another strike. "N-NO!" The Doctor
shouted again, his voice breaking over the single syllable. The lash cracked over Rose's back
and she shrieked again, eyes screwed shut. She had tried hard not to make a sound, but as the
electricity pulsed through her she couldn't hold it in. "Please! Stop! I'll do it! I'll do whatever
you want. Just stop, please!" The Doctor begged desperately.

Tears were now soaking both of their faces, both from pain, although two completely
different types. Jancon held up his hand and the beefy guard backed away a step, lowering
the lash. "Is that your word, Mr. Smith?"

The Doctor sneered up at the man. "I thought you said 'Words are meant to be kept between
good, honest men.' You, Jancon, are neither." But then the Doctor lowered his head, all fire
extinguishing from his eyes. "But yes," He whispered. "That's my word. I swear."

There was a pause before Jancon announced cheerfully, "Well, there we have it. That wasn't
so hard, now was it, John?" The Doctor just glared at the sand. "You can untie him now."
Jancon told the guard holding tight to the Doctor's arms. "I am quite positive our compliant
slave won't be going anywhere anytime soon."

The Doctor felt the ties around his wrists break apart. His back screamed at him as he pulled
his arms in front of his body, but he pushed the pain to the back of his mind. Rose was being
uncuffed from the posts now. She flinched away as the guards hand brushed against her skin.
The Doctor launched himself to his feet, stumbling through the sand to catch her as the last
restraint came undone. She let the Doctor pull her close but didn't say anything. The Doctor
embraced her as tightly to his chest as he dared, careful of his hands on her ripped back and
making sure to cover her as best he could. The dress still hung, torn and destroyed, around
her hips.

As carefully as he could, the Doctor directed her down into a sitting position on the sand.
Still holding her close with one arm, he reached out with the other for his discarded black
shirt. His fingers managed to brush the material and he snatched it, shaking the sand off
roughly before draping it around Rose. Her fingers curled around the fabric in front of her
chest. She leaned against the Doctor's torso – he ignored the searing pain the contact brought
to his recently received gashes – and pressed her face into his chest so as the hide the tears
that coursed down it.

"Shh. I've got you, Rose. I'm sorry." The Doctor kept repeating. "I am so, so sorry."

"M'okay" She mumbled. "Just…a scratch."

"Don't act like this is okay." He practically begged her. He didn't know why he said it. Maybe
because if it was okay then she would forgive him, and, even worse, he would be expected to
forgive himself. And that he certainly wasn't going to do, nor would he accept her
forgiveness. He kept on hurting her. No matter what he did to try and protect her, Rose was
always getting hurt because of him. Back at the outpost, Rat-Face attacked her because the
Doctor did something wrong (to this day he still wasn't exactly sure what). In Eyal he hadn't
fought hard enough to reach her. Had reacted rashly towards her keeper, who in turn played
tricks with her mind. And now here he had been so selfish and refused to allow more blood to
be on his hands, only to have her own stain his fingers for his disobedience.

"Well then, let's not waste anymore time, shall we?" Jancon interrupted them and reached
down as if to offer Rose a hand up, but the Doctor just glared him down and helped Rose to
her feet himself. He staggered slightly as a wave of pain washed over him. Rose held onto his
arm in a steadying manner. Jancon gave him a scathing look that he quickly transformed into
a smile. "Come, Mr. Smith, you have much work to do. I will ensure your Rose bud will be
cared for appropriately."

The Doctor squeezed Rose's upper arm and she nodded to him. She wrapped his shirt a little
tighter around her shoulders as he stepped away and approached the Prebassador, trying to
conceal his limp behind a glower. His shirt was still rather large on Rose, but as the Doctor
walked away she noticed the way his hipbones protruded out above the waistband of his
trousers. The way the ridges of his ribs pressed visibly against his taut skin. He was so
skinny, skinnier that normal, which was saying quite a bit. How much pain and suffering had
he been forced to endure?

The Doctor stopped right beside Jancon and lowered his voice to a threatening growl. "If you
touch her one more time, slave or not, I will personally ensure that your entire life comes
burning down around you."

"I look forward to that attempt, John." Jancon countered sleekly. "Now back to work."

A guard came forward, took the Doctor by the upper arm, and began to steer him back
towards the underground laboratory. The Doctor stumbled along without resistance, only
pausing to look over his shoulder at Rose. She had pulled her arms through the sleeves of his
shirt and was still clutching it around her. The guard who had brought her down cautiously
approached her and shrugged off his own jacket to sling it gently around her shoulders. The
look in his eye was sympathetic, and so the Doctor was able to tear himself away, hoping the
guard would treat her kindly. He could see it in the man's eyes; he was not accustom to
witnessing this kind of torment, especially towards a woman.

The Doctor wanted to be there for her, holding her still, healing the gashes he was responsible
for causing that now marred her back. But he knew he couldn't. He sold away his ability to
comfort her by ensuring she wouldn't be further hurt, and even though he would never have
gone for the latter option – ever – it was still hard for him to walk away, back beneath the
surface to his secluded lab, unsure how his Rose was faring above.
 Chapter 30

Rat-Face awoke with a groan. Ren had been waiting for this. He sat opposite the bound
Drephesh as he watched the alien struggle back to consciousness. He hadn't registered the
pain. Not yet, at any rate. Ren hoped he wouldn't scream. The last thing he needed was the
unnecessary, obnoxious noise.

The rodent rolled his head up from where it had been drooped against his chest and with
dazed and fuzzy eyes found the Captain staring at him. He went in for a glare, but it quickly
faded when he realized the burning in his fingers. He hissed as he automatically tried to draw
his hands to his chest and examine why they seemed to be on fire, but he discovered instead
that his wrists were tied securely to the arms of a shuttle seat. He jerked on the bounds, which
only caused the pain in his fingers to heighten. He rolled his hands over as best he could and
nearly vomited at what he saw.

His fingertips were bare. Where the padded skin of each finger should have been there was
only raw, bleeding flesh. The slices were smooth and surgical, cleanly removing the layers of
skin until nothing but muscle and bone and ligament remained. Rat-Face choked down bile,
whimpering pathetically through his nose.

"Do you like my solution to the problem you caused?" Ren asked casually from where he sat.
Rat-Face jerked his head up to fix Ren with a watery, panicky look. Ren reached for
something across the table behind him and turned back around so Rat-Face could see what he
was doing. He pulled on a tight, clear glove, the kind they used in the medical packs for
short-range shuttles. But on the tips of each of the latex fingers was a patch of cleaned real
skin. Rat-Face's skin.

"It's a little trick I picked up from an old Earth movie." Ren explained. "The scanners will
still be able to pick up the pulse in my finger, but it will only scan the top layer of skin. Your
skin, which you so kindly offered."

"W-w-why?" Rat-Face sniveled. "W-what did you d-d-do to m-me?"

Ren gave the Drephesh a disgusted scowl. "I took your identity." He sneered savagely. "Just
like you took mine. So thank you…" He pressed him finger to a reader nearby and waited for
it to scan, "Pesi. Hmm, you know, I never even bothered to learn your name before. I guess
you just weren't important enough."

"Make it stop." Rat-Face sobbed as he threw his head back. "P-please. My fingers…they're
on f-fire."

"They're not on fire, you pathetic idiot." Ren snapped. "And you're not going to bleed out
either, so stop sniveling."

He didn't. His frantic breathing didn't quite as Ren removed the glove, stowed it in a safe
compartment, and moved towards the cockpit. He checked the readings on the radar and
scanner, keeping an eye out for anything that could be coming after them from the outpost,
before punching in a few directions and letting the automatic pilot do the rest of the work.
They would be arriving in just about an hour, which was fifty-nine minutes too long for Ren.
Ever since the unsuccessful mission that had ended with the crash on Drephia ten years ago,
the confined spaces and gentle hum of a ship in flight always set his nerves on edge.

"W-where are we going?" He heard the broken, hushed whisper from the room behind and he
couldn't quite hold back the rolling of his eyes.

"To pick up some old friends." Ren answered plainly without turning around.

"And w-what are you going t-to do with m-me?"

Ren shrugged. "You're not my responsibility to deal with anymore. I could just open up the
shuttle door and toss you out considering how useless you are to me now." He heard the
rodent whimper at the idea and allowed for a small smile to form. "But I think I know of
someone who would just jump at the chance to have you at their mercy."

"P-p-please." Rat-Face begged. "D-don't. I'm s-s-sorry. I'm sorry. Don't h-hurt me. Please."

Now Ren spun around on his heels and glared daggers at the bound man. If looks could kill…
"Is that was Rose said?" He demanded harshly, eliciting a wince. "Did she ask you to stop?
Did she ask you not to hurt her? Did you do it anyway? DID YOU STOP?!" He shouted the
last bit as he stormed across the hull, halting to tower over the terrified Rat-Face.

"S-sh-she didn't…" Rat-Face tried to explain, to justify, but he was cut off by Ren's
humorless laughter.

"No, I doubt she would. Because she's a hell of a lot braver than you are!"

Rat-Face suddenly glared up at his captor. "Why do you c-care, anyway? What's she to you?"

Ren stood back and raised an eyebrow. "Oh, nothing to me. But to the Doctor…you know,
that man you and Crvas decided would be an easy target to torment?" Ren could see the little
color that was left in Rat-Face's skin drain away at the mention, and he knew right then that
the rodent remembered that look in their old captive's eyes just as well as he did. The fire and
ice that brewed together into that hailstorm of rage, capable of shooting a man down just by
one glare. That look of eternity and ancient knowledge and power that struck everyone who
met him to the very core. Ren smiled devilishly. "I bet she means a whole fucking lot to him."

Rat-Face swallowed heavily, shaking even more than before. "Y-you're going to Eyal? You're
g-gonna try to f-f-find them?"

Ren turned back to the cockpit, checking their ETA. Forty-nine minutes. "I'm going to try to
right one of my many wrongs. I just hope I'm not too late."

A good fifteen or so minutes passed at glacier speeds before the Doctor was able to snap out
of his emotionless stupor. He stood in the doorway to the lab, staring sightlessly at all the
instruments surrounding him, expected to be put to use, like pieces in a deadly puzzle. He
saw them – all the shiny glass and tough metal and bizarrely colorful chemicals – but his eyes
were not connecting to his mind. He knew what he had to do. It was simple, really. Tedious,
yes, but more or less uncomplicated. Childs' play.

If only he could disconnect his mind from his eyes. From his hands. From his conscience.
Then it would be all too easy. Mix this chemical with that strain of the virus, get a blood
sample, remove the nuclei, reverse the enzymes, set in an incubator, grab a cuppa, and wait
for the oven to go ding. Easy-peasy. But it wasn't so easy-peasy. After the oven goes ding, the
virus will be unleash on innocent, unknowing people. People with lives, possibly families.
Could the Doctor tear that all apart? Again?

The Doctor flinched as he heard, once again, the crack of the whip in his mind's ear. He
screwed his eyes shut as they were unwillingly assaulted with the image of Rose's face
smiling at him and then suddenly crying, twisted in pain. His gut twisted as he replayed those
words exchanged oh so long ago in the depths of hell. "Let me help you." "Yeah, like you
helped back there?" He hadn't been strong enough to keep her from being raped then and he
still couldn't protect her now. "If I can't protect you then what's the point of me?"

His own words still rang true in his ears. What was he? He wasn't human no matter how
much he claimed to have adopted Earth and her kind. He was hardly a Time Lord anymore –
his people had retreated into legend and left him alone in reality, he broke all the rules that
originally governed his species, and he wasn't even one hundred percent pure Time Lord to
begin with. He heard the phantom voice of Koschei sneering at him again, "You half-blooded
filth!" He clearly wasn't a hero either, could barely be a traveler without getting himself and
everybody around him into trouble, and he truly sucked at just being an observer.

It seemed the only thing he really was good at being was…a killer.

"Alright, well, let's get to work." Said the Doctor dejectedly. He crackled his knuckles and
ran a hand through his still over-grown hair before beginning to explore the laboratory. He
pulled open cabinets and draws, cupboards and closets, taking in what was supplied and
mentally keeping note of what he would need. In one closet he found a few generic white lab
coats and shrugged one on painfully. The white was sure to quickly stain with the blood
clotted on his back, but it was better than standing around in the cold room bare-chested and
bloodied.

He set to work pulling out a few vials of provided chemicals and inspecting them. The lab
was relatively, surprisingly, well stocked with a variety of supplies from basic antivirus and
vaccination strains to complex chemical bonds. The Doctor pulled out a couple more vials,
placed them on the table, and went hunting for some beakers and burners. He didn't
have enough of the right supplies to do what Jancon wanted, but he could at least test out the
equipment in the meantime. He quickly set up a maze of test tubes, beakers, burners, and
condensators before getting started with the available chemicals. Soon an array of strange
smelling smoke was filling the lab, but the Doctor had no protective wear other than the lab
coat and his trousers. He didn't even have shoes.

About an hour later the concoction he created was set at a simmer, boiling away the access
elements and thickening like stew over a fire. The Doctor had his back to the door, leaning
over a table and he scribbled over a piece of paper with a pen he had scavenged from one of
the drawers. Pausing for only a fraction of a second, eyes flicking upwards almost
unnoticeably towards the far wall, the Doctor licked his lips and continued whatever he was
writing.

"You know, I told her I was going to protect her." He finally said out loud, his voice flattened
by the weight of everything he was doing and had done. He heard a soft sigh and a shuffle
but still did not turn around to see Jancon unfold himself from where he had been lounging
against the doorframe for a minute and saunter into the room.

"It is a good thing that's what you're doing then." The Prebassador replied reasonably. His
own voice was void of the threat and strain it had taken on earlier, and now it only sounded
tired.

The Doctor ground his teeth together and finished off what he was writing. He snatched up
the paper and held it out, still without looking over, to Jancon, who took it curiously. "These
are the supplies I'll be needing." The Doctor explained. "Nothing too difficult for someone
like you to get a hold of."

Jancon read over the piece of paper with an unreadable quirk of his eyebrow. "Not at all. You
did not find my laboratory equipment suitable? All the necessary supplies should be
compiled here in some manner."

"Look, if you're going to make me to kill a couple dozen innocent people, then we're going to
do it my way. And those are the things I need." The Doctor nodded at the paper. Jancon
seemed to accept this as he bobbed his head and slid the folded piece of paper into his jacket
pocket. Resisting the urge to say something else that would surely land him in even more
trouble with his master, the Doctor turned back to the purple-tinted beaker shooting out lazy
puffs of smoke and carefully turned off the flame. Jancon didn't say a thing and just watched
as the Doctor used a pair of tongs to remove the glass from the ring stand and place it on a
thick, heavy looking chemical cloth. He glanced over the temperature readings on the small
screen he attached by a wire to the cloth base and gave it an impressed look. The substance
had heated up much faster than he had expected. The atmosphere on this planet was probably
thicker – if just slightly – than Earth's, which would account for the warm, tropical
temperatures as well as the ability to heat objects quickly.

Jancon leaned against the opposite counter. "You'll be happy to know your woman is doing
fine." He said as if expecting the Doctor to dance with joy. In fact, it probably should have,
but all the Doctor felt at those words was the slowly boiling anger lighting up again in his
belly. "I have a healer I keep on grounds and he is making sure her injuries are attended to
and cared for properly."

The Doctor glared up at the opposite wall. "And how long will she have the scars?" He asked
in a tense voice, the words barely escaping passed his clenched teeth. Jancon must have
detected his barely controlled resentment, for he sighed again and bowed his head ever-so-
slightly, staring at a spot on the floor. He no longer looked like the powerful, confident man
the Doctor had grown to know and hate over the last few days.

"They will fade. Eventually." The Prebassador answered quietly. The Doctor scoffed slightly
as he reached for a solution waiting measured out in a graduated cylinder. He tipped the
contents into the first beaker and steam immediately erupted where the two met. The Doctor
had the foresight to turn his head away, but he conveniently forgot to warn Jancon. The
Prebassador coughed violently as the strangely minty smoke attacked his nose and lungs. A
satisfied smirk found its way onto the Doctor's lips before he quickly wiped it off.

"What is this?" Jancon coughed through the smoke. He sounded, despite the hacking,
genuinely curious.

"The best I could do for now." The Doctor answered tersely. "It's the basic fundamentals
found in Oblen oil. It should heal and close up most skin injuries without leaving a scar." He
poured a substantial amount into a large vial and handed it over to Jancon. "Make sure your
healer gets this to Rose before they start healing on their own."

Jancon took the vial, studying it intensely for a moment, before removing the stopper from
the top. "You first, Mr. Smith."

The glare he received was terrifying and short lived before the Doctor turned back to his
instruments. "No. I'll heal fine, and there's not much. Rose needs it more."

"Forgive me if I require a demonstration before administering a strange, foreign substance to

the poor girl."

The Doctor suddenly spun on the Prebassador, eyes blackened with anger as he stormed
across the short expanse to tower over the shorter gray man. "I would never hurt her, master."
He ground out threateningly. Jancon stood strong, not even flinching as the infuriated Time
Lord got right in his face. They held the universe's most hostile staring contest before the
Doctor finally broke it by reaching for one of the small plastic tools on the counter. He used a
pipette to pick up some of the new mixture in Jancon's hand and, holding out one of his
chafed and bloodied wrists from hanging in the shackles, released a few drops onto his torn
skin. There was a hiss as the chemical snaked its way into the wound and began knitting the
skin back together. A moment later that patch of his wrist was back to its normal, smooth
standard. "Happy?" He sneered.

A raising of the eyebrows was the only indication that Jancon heard the hostility in the
Doctor's voice. "I am content, yes." He replied flatly, popping the stopper back on the vial
and handing it to a guard standing watch nearby. "Bring this to Miss Rose and ensure it is
well used." Jancon instructed and the guard gave a short 'yes, sir' before bowing out of the
room.

Silence that could have rent the entire universe in half from sheer loathing cackled in the air
between the remaining two. The Doctor turned the burners off fully, disconnecting them from
the gas gages and winding up the cord. Jancon still had yet to move from his spot, causing a
tingling of annoyance in the Doctor's shoulders. He leaned heavily against the counter and
sighed. "Is there anything else I can do for you, master?" His voice dripped with distain.
Jancon shifted angrily but managed to keep his voice level and measured.

"You could show me a small amount of respect, John."

The Doctor nearly laughed. "You haven't earned my respect. In fact, you're doing a pretty
fine job of ensuring you're never going to."

"You drove me to these actions." Jancon stepped closer to the Doctor, who instinctively
stepped away. His back still seared with each movement of the muscles beneath his skin, but
he bit back a hiss of pain as one of the gashes began oozing blood again. "It was not my
intention to harm you, and especially not to involve your human. She has suffered enough, do
you not think?"

The Doctor didn't answer that she had suffered more than he probably knew because of his
stupid actions. He also didn't answer that he agreed with the man. It was because of his
stubbornness and inability to foresee the consequences of his decisions that caused the events
of that day. Instead, he just glared at a spot on the far wall. For some reason he couldn't bring
himself to look Jancon in the eye.

Jancon clasped his hands together behind his back and surveyed his insubordinate slave.
"When you arrived here, I was prepared to offer you and your mate a comfortable life. I gave
you your own room, a comfortable bed, nice clothes, access to food, a significant amount of
freedom considering I had no knowledge of your disposition; all liberties usually refused to
any slave, let alone a recent purchase. I asked you kindly to complete this task with the
promise of freedom upon completion. I even overlooked you deliberate lie about you
identity, John Smith." His eyes raked the Doctor once more, seeming unimpressed. "Not the
typical name of a Time Lord, but I allowed it to slide in order to provide you a sense of
security behind your elected mask. And defiance is how you planned to repay my
kindnesses?"

Now the Doctor did laugh. It was a low, dark, short kind of laugh that cut off quickly as he
shook his head. "So you buy me a fancy dinner and then expect me to put out? Sorry, I'm not
that kind of date."

"So you have made evident." Stated Jancon. "And I have been forced to adapt. But I admit, I
reacted harshly to you previous answer. I was taken off-guard, not expecting an outright
refusal; prepared to make bargains and strike deals accordingly so as to, in a way, purchase
your loyalty if I had to, but it seemed you were not buyable. Well, clearly you are buyable in
the physical sense, for I do own you, and therefore I was forced to exercise my right as a
slave master to punish my recalcitrant slaves." There was a pause as Jancon sighed. "I am not
explaining this so as to try to earn your forgiveness, and certainly not to earn your respect,
but simply to explain that I did not intend to resort to violent coercion. And I hope we can
overlook this and not return to this kind of action and reaction in the future."

The Doctor didn't respond. He was starting to shiver slightly. The room was cool and he still
had nothing on but the thin lab coat and his trousers, and judging from the way the coat stuck
to his back as if from adhesive, the Doctor guessed he had lost more blood than he had
anticipated. Not to mention the fact that his mind was currently being attacked by a little
voice. An annoying little voice he became all too familiar with in the recent weeks but had
not heard for a few days. It was growing louder, insistent. You disobeyed your master. You
threatened your master. You made eye contact with your master. Bow your head. Get on your
knees. Say you're sorry. Beg for forgiveness. Don't speak unless spoken to.
He swallowed as if the small involuntary action would silence the voice. He didn't know why.
Why was this voice speaking up now? Why was he shaking? Backing up against the opposite
counter, trying to look strong, eyes downcast to the sterile white tile floor of the oppressing
lab? He forced his eyes upwards, focusing on the Prebassador's nose rather than his gray-
white eyes, and convinced his eyebrows to angle down aggressively.

"I'm going to need the items on that list." He managed to press passed the lump forming deep
in the back of his throat. The words were clipped, heavy, and finite, and Jancon knew they
were his sign to leave. While normally disinclined to comply with a slave's demands, Jancon
was realizing that, with this one, there would have to be some compromising, some sort of
middle ground achieved to ensure his participation. And so the Prebassador bowed his head
lightly, not in a submissive way but in an understanding way, and took his leave.

The Doctor remained alone in the laboratory, the air smelling of blood and chemicals. He
collapsed into a nearby chair, his shakes increasing even more as blood pounded in his ears.
He ran his hands through his hair, scrubbing as if trying to rid his scalp of something stuck
there, harder than entirely necessary so his mop of brown hair was more disgruntled than ever
before he contented with resting his face in his palms. He breathed deeply and tried to ignore
the metallic smells assaulting his nose.

Down the hall he could hear the clanking of metal, the shouts of orders, and the grunts of a
man in action. Jancon's competitor was hard at work, fighting, training, for a death the Doctor
was positive he was about to ensure. A single tear escaped through the bars of entwined
fingers.

"You'll be fine, my dear." The kindly medic announced as he snapped his case full of herbs,
vials, and syringes shut. He picked up the container that once held the essence of Oblen oil
and gently flicked the side twice. A soft tingnoise sounded in the quiet room, but only a few
drops of the remaining substance fell to the bottom of the vial. "I will order the slave to make
more for our stocks, just in case. In the mean time, avoid laying on your back, my dear."

Rose didn't say anything. Her eyes stared dimly and distantly at the far wall, the patterns of
the wallpaper blurring together as her eyes danced out of focus. She was back in the room
that had been designated for her back in the main house, sitting in the center of the bed with
her knees drawn up to her chest. The medic sighed and mumbled something indiscernible
about "unacceptable actions" before he backed out of the room. The door slid shut behind
him, leaving the human girl alone.

Moments later there was the awaited click of the door locking. Rose's eyes darted to the dark
wood, suddenly alight with life, and sprang from the bed. Her back tingled a little bit where
the two gashes had once marred her skin, but whatever that was that the Doctor created had
done it's work. Her skin had knitted back together relatively successfully and in record time.
The pain was not even so intense.

She cast one more heated look at the door, imaging the look fell on the medic, who she
instantly decided she didn't like. The slave, he had said. He would order the slave to make
more medicine. It disgusted her that he would refer to anyone, especially the Doctor, in such
an uncaring, off-handed way.
She hurried across the rather large room to a desk of drawers and rifled through the lowest
one. She had told Ilaria she was a fan of drawing, how it calmed her and helped settle her
thumping heart. The woman, who Rose truly did believe meant well, immediately supplied
her with a stack of parchment and an array of sketch pencils, ink pens, paints, and colors after
making Rose agree to showcase her art for her at some point during her stay. Rose had no
intention of displaying her "art".

A rough sketch of the estate was drawn out on the paper. Rooms and halls and passage ways
Rose had traveled down had been detailed, with arrows indicating which paths lead to an
exit. Snatching up one of the fine, expensive looking specialty pencils, Rose quickly drew in
the new landmarks; she shuddered as she drew a rough square near the neatly drawn servant's
quarters – featuring a detailed path to the Doctor's room – which indicated the servant's yard
she had just witnessed the Doctor being tortured in, before penciling in the doorway along the
side of the main house where the Doctor had disappeared. She put a question mark over the
door, now knowing what could possibly be down there but needing to find out.

She studied the makeshift map, trying to find a way to discreetly get down to that door and
find the Doctor. She had to see him, needed to talk to him where there was no one around.
She didn't dare say anything to him earlier when she woke him up; she wasn't sure how long
she had and how well he would understand, she couldn't risk messing up.

The truth was, she couldn't stay there any longer. Sure, she wasn't living in constant fear of
pain anymore, wasn't forced to sleep on a cold, uncomfortable grated floor, meals were
regular and far more stomachable than anything else she'd had in months, and she was no
longer crippled by the idea of being sold to someone less than agreeable. But the fact
remained that they were still not free, and the Doctor was surely about to do something he
will regret for the rest of his very, very long life. And she had to stop him.

It might not be that hard…Rose thought as she examined the map. Maybe she could
just ask Ilaria to let her down there. The woman trusted her – they all did, in fact, even
Jancon. It is hard not to trust a kicked puppy, and Rose was being very convincing in her little
charade. She hated have to constantly act weak, forcing her body to flinch when men walked
by and her shoulders to curl over and down to make herself look as small and pitiable as
possible. But as the Doctor was currently proving very well thanks to his thick head and even
thicker sense of morals, defiance wasn't the key.

The small and pathetic get the love, get the help, and then get ignored. That was what Rose
was counting on. That was what Rose learned in Eyal when that one guard brought her a slice
of bread because she was scared and lonely and oh so sad to look at. And then suddenly she
found herself left alone by the other guards on duty as well. That was what got her through
that place and that was what was going to get them out of this one. If only the Doctor doesn't
managed to screw this one up as well, they might actually be able to do something right.
 Chapter 31

The air outside was surprisingly cool and refreshing. The last few days had been a bit too hot
and sticky for her liking, coming from the cold and foggy streets of London. It was still warm
enough for her to comfortably wear the shorts and blouse she had selected for the day – she
had begged Ilaria to find her something other than dresses, they were just too hard to sneak
away in, and after the woman's initial disapproval of anything as lowly and common as pant
legs, she had conceded – and Rose thought dreamily of how much she would have enjoyed
these kinds of days, meandering around with the Doctor, had there situation been different.

Rose allowed herself to enjoy the walk through the estate yard. It was the first time she'd
been allowed to really be on her own outside the walls of the main house. There was no
guard guiding her around, no servants keeping their watchful, knowing eyes on her as she
passed. When she asked Ilaria if she could see the Doctor alone, she was surprised by how
quickly Ilaria said yes. Even Jancon, who had been lounging in a chair close to them that
morning, enjoying what Rose thought looked like a mimosa and reading over the latest
political drama of their planet, had agreed excitedly, believing it to be the perfect reward for
his slave who was in need of a pick-me-up.

She felt oddly like a young teen asking her parents if she could go on a date with a boy she
liked. In a way, she guessed it was like that.

When she reached the door concealed along the side of the building, a guard was there to
greet her – not unkindly, but she could have done with a smile at least – and direct her down
the hallways towards the Doctor. As they passed the main training room she peeked in and
saw the two men, trainer and competitor, hard at work. The room smelled strongly of blood
and sweat. Another hallway and they passed through a door, cutting off the sounds of
exercise behind them. "Right through there." The guard said gruffly as he indicated one of the
open doors at the end of the hall. Another guard was standing just outside the threshold. His
eyes surveyed her as she approached and Rose was careful to lower her gaze in a submissive
manner. As ordered, he stepped aside and let Rose enter.

The lab was in disarray. The instruments used the day before to create the Oblen solution
were sitting in a large industrial-sized sink, soaking in a bath of murky water that clearly once
held bubbles. There were pieces of parchment strewn across the work spaces, some even
finding their way to the floor. Marker had etched complicated equations on the glass window
dividing a portion of the room.

And right smack dab in the middle of the insanity was the Doctor. The sleeves of his lab coat
had been pushed up to his elbows and there were ink stains all over his fingers. His hair was
practically standing on end and frankly looked a little charred, not the mention that the room
smelled slightly of burned hair. He had his back to the door as he leaned over one of the
tables, examining a piece of paper and scribbling away frantically.

"What's that they say about keeping a tidy workplace?"

The Doctor spun around and grinned maniacally at the sight of her. "'Cleanliness clouds
creativity'?"

"Hmm…no, I was going for something more along the lines of 'cleanliness is next to
godliness'. But each to their own, I guess." Rose muttered as she carefully navigated the maze
of papers on the floor. "You're looking happier." She noted as she took in the way the Doctor
was standing tall again, eyes sparkling as they darted between the drawings and symbols on
the pages. He even cast her a sly sideways smile.

"Finally got something to do!" He hummed in excitement. "I came to the realization last night
that there's really no point in moping about. And I don't feel quite so bored and useless now
that I finally have something to distract myself with." The Doctor quickly flashed his 'crazy-
eyes' look at Rose, who couldn't help but laugh.

"Okay, Sherlock, take it easy." A somber look quickly came over her. "So you're really doin
this? Whatever 'this' is, you never did tell me anyway."

The Doctor shrugged non-committally. "Don't really have much of a choice, do I? Jancon
made me an offer I just couldn't refuse. Bah!" He extenuated that with a quick slash of his
pen over a section of his notes. "Never would have worked. What was I thinking? The
molecular bonds are too weak." He scribbled something new into the margins before leaning
back to inspect it. "There. What do you think? Much better, right?"

Rose raised an eyebrow. "It's all in Gallifreyan." She pointed out plainly.

"Exactly!" He tossed the pen back onto the table harshly, where it skidded and fell off the
other side. The Doctor waved his hand flippantly and ignored the pens escape.

"Are you drunk?" She asked half jokingly, half serious. The Doctor laughed.

"You know that point you get to when you're so tired you practically become delusional?
Yeah, well, I'm about fifty kilometers passed that point." And with that he plopped down on
the ground and fell face forward, laying spread out on his stomach with his head resting in his
arms. An elongated groan escaped from beneath his arms. "Urg, my head…"

Rose glanced around, slightly confused, before letting out an exasperated sigh. She bent
down and grabbed the unwilling Time Lord by the elbow.

"Alright, sleeping beauty." She managed to drag him upright and into a nearby chair. "You
just need to recharge. Come on, I brought you some breakfast." She pulled out a sandwich
she had managed to scavenge out from under Mrs. Sinh nose and began unwrapping it.
"Thought you might be hungry with all the brain-stormin goin on down here."

This instantly perked the Doctor up again. "Rose Tyler, you really are my saving grace, you
know that, right?"

"'Course I do." She wheeled another chair across the room and took up a place beside him.
The Doctor bite into the sandwich and chewed slowly. "It's no corner shop chips and vinegar,
but whatcha gonna do."
"It's wonderful." The Doctor replied through his mouthful. "Really. Thank you."

The Doctor took another bite while Rose rested her head on the table. "Not very bright, are
they?" She said suddenly. "Making you do something and then not letting you eat or sleep.
Seems more counterproductive than anything."

"Well, I haven't exactly been the most," He swallowed his bite. "Obedient of slaves, have I?"
Rose didn't respond. She wanted to say something along the lines of 'you're not a slave', but
they were done fooling themselves. Shemight have been granted a liberal amount of freedom,
but the Doctor certainly hadn't been.

"Now, tell me," Rose was jolted out of her thoughts by the Doctor's loud voice. He pinned her
down with another one of his signature stares, the kind that made her wonder if one of his
Time Lord abilities included seeing straight through someone's soul. "How are you?" Rose
opened her mouth to answer, but the Doctor beat her to it with a wave of his hand. "And don't
give me that rubbish about being fine. I want to know exactly how you're feeling and
thinking, because quite frankly you've been changing your attitude so often lately you're
giving me whiplash."

He sank his teeth into another bite still without taking his eyes off her. It was jolting how
casual his words were paired with how intense his gaze rested upon her. A sudden wave of
guilt rushed over her. He was, of course, always going to be worrying over her, and her
purposefully bi-polar mood swings were probably freaking him out. "Sorry…"

The Doctor waved it away again. "Naw. No apologies. I just want to make sure you're really
okay with whatever crazy idea you've got forming inside that silly human head of yours.
Oww!"

Rose had punched him in the arm. "Thanks for the vote of confidence, Doctor. And stop
cryin, I didn't punch you that hard." She added as the Doctor continued to cradle the shoulder
her fist collided with. He tried to inhale quietly though his nose, but it came out too sharp and
Rose noticed. He pulled his hand away, his fingers now lightly stained a deep red orange.
"Oh God."

Rose jumped up as she saw the thin line of blood already soaking through the sleeve of the
coat he was wearing. "It's alright. It's alright." The Doctor tried to calm her as she instantly
began to fuss over him. Before he knew it she had pulled the lab coat off his shoulders and
was staring, horrified, at his unhealed back. "You just reopened one of them, it's fine. It'll heal
over again soon."

"Why didn't they give you any of that ointment stuff?" She shot back as she began pulling
open the closest drawers, looking for something to wipe the blood off with. The Doctor
shrugged with the one less injured shoulder.

"I didn't make enough for two of us." He answered simply.

Rose managed to find a draw filled with some gauze and sanitizing wipes. "I thought the
medic came down to have you make more."
"He did. Jancon told him off though. Said not to waste my valuable time making silly potions
when I had real work to get to." His tone took on a sarcastic song-like quality before
suddenly becoming dark. "It's not like I even have the right materi – polysyconomyn!"

The Doctor sprang to his feet, nearly knocking Rose backwards, and basically dove over the
table to snatch his pen from the floor. Rose gave an exasperated sigh as a few more of the
scabbed strips of skin on his back cracked open and began to ooze blood from the movement.
"There's really no use telling you to sit still, is there?"

"Of course, how could I be so stupid? I'm getting blind in my old age." He mumbled as he
reappeared on the other side of the table and began drawing the circles of his native language
again. His companion just rolled her eyes as she accepted that he wasn't even listening to her
anymore, too engrossed in his little project. It was a relief, actually, to see him so happily
distracted, even if she was worried about what he had agreed to do in order to achieve this
happiness. She glanced down at the papers again, squinting as if that would help her
understand the ancient language.

"Why did you say 'exactly' before?"

"Hmm?" The Doctor asking with his tongue sticking out between his teeth, too focused on
writing out another long equation to form actual words.

"Earlier, when I pointed out everything was written in Gallifreyan, you said 'exactly'."

Still not taking his eyes or pen off the paper. "Rose, how many creatures in the universe still
understand circular Gallifreyan?"

Rose took a very educated guess. "You?"

"Yep. Me."

"So…you're writing out all you notes and calculations in circular Gallifreyan so that you are
the only one that can read it." Then it clicked. "That way Jancon or anyone who see these
won't be able to recreate whatever you're making."

"Bingo!" The Doctor stood and stared down at what he'd just written. A frown quickly
formed on his face. "No, not polysyconomyn. What was I thinking? Rose, why'd you let me
write that down?" The pen slashed across the page again, obliterating whatever the symbol
for polysyconomyn was.

Rose just rolled her eyes. "Alright, come on. Time for bed."

"But it's only 10:38 in the morning." The Doctor whined without even look at a clock.

"Yes, and you've been up for how long?"

The Doctor hung his head like a dejected child. "Twenty-eight hours and forty-three
minutes." He mumbled to his bare feet. Rose couldn't have felt more like a mother having to
drag her overgrown, 900 year-old son to his bedtime as she grabbed his arm and pulled him
out the door.
The guard on the other side moved as if to intercept them, but Rose had already transformed.
Her shoulders suddenly rounded, her body shifting slightly so that it almost appeared she was
hiding behind the Doctor's arm instead of leading it. Her large, dewy-brown eyes lifted to
meet the guards as she said, "I'm s-sorry, but I was told by Madam Ilaria to t-take the slave
back to his quarters. He n-needs his rest."

The man looked over her at the Doctor and must have noticed the heavy bags beneath his
eyes, which were slightly bloodshot from staring so hard as his research and equations, for
the guard stepped aside with a huff and let them pass. Rose continued the act until they were
all the way down the hall, passed the two men in the training room who were apparently
trying to kill each other in a boxing ring. As the ground began to rise so did her spirits, and
the Doctor couldn't help but shake his head in amusement. "Are you sure you've never taken
acting lessons before?"

"Oh, I have." She answered with a smirk on her voice. "While you were busy flirting with
Ingrid Bergman, Humphrey taught me a few tricks of the trade."

A whimsical nostalgia painted the Doctor's voice as he said "Oh, yeah. We really should
spend more time on movie sets from now on."

"Does this mean you're not grounding me back to Earth once we're out of this?" Rose tried to
keep from sounding too hopeful.

Silence followed her question as the Doctor pushed the door open, flooding the tunnel with
light, but she let his lack of response slide. It didn't really matter what the Doctor decided in
the end. She wasn't going to leave him. And not just because she didn't want to – you can't
just show someone all of time and space and the expanse of history and all the worlds beyond
chip shops and taxi cabs and then just drop them back off at the tube station and say 'pip pip,
cheerio'. Rose knew her Time Lord was going to need her. They had come so far together
since they had first met, back when the Doctor was all about leather jackets and angst and
blaming himself for the destruction of his entire planet, but she could see him coming undone
again. With everything he was being forced into now – slavery, murder – it was no surprise
that he was standing on the precipice of a downward spiral. They both were. And that was
why Rose would refuse to leave. She would go so far as to tying herself to the TARDIS
console if she had to. They both needed each other. They both needed to heal.

But now was not the time to bring it up. She walked the Doctor back to his room, where Mrs.
Sinh gave them one of the coldest motherly looks Rose had ever seen that it could rival her
own mother's, before beginning to lecture the Doctor about the fact that he wasn't wearing his
shackles. They waved her off – a bit rudely on the Doctor's part, and Rose was worried he
might come to regret that later – and the Doctor collapsed on his bed the moment it was
within sight.

Two months ago Rose would have laughed at the idea of the Doctor ever sleeping. He was
always so alive, alert, awake, and overly enthusiastic that it seemed nearly impossible to
imagine him being able to settle down long enough to take more than a short cat-nap. But
now Rose sat beside him for what felt like the twelfth time in the last few weeks as he drifted
off into the protective bubble of sleep, stroking his unruly hair as he did so, and seeing both
the ancient man and the lost child appearing all at once in his vulnerable face.
TBC
 Chapter 32

Shelwick was known throughout the universe for having the most beautiful sunsets the eye
could ever behold. The way the azure sky melts like rich, thick chocolate beneath the heat of
the setting sun and softens into violet one fading streak at a time…how the sun in the east
glows young and yellow just above the horizon as it's older partner sinks out of sight along
the southern rim, casting the landscape into a faux-twilight state haloed with gold.

Before this whole adventure, the Doctor had even thought about bringing Rose here to see it
one day, just like he had with Sarah once upon a time. She would have loved to lie in the tall
grass surrounding Audali Square in the lakeside city of Carsala and watch the sibling suns
slips behind the waves of the enormous lake. It was still beautiful here on the estate – which
the Doctor deduced to be just a twenty minute shuttle flight from the capital city of Awahow
– but he wondered if she would still be interested in visiting Carsala once they were set free,
or if she would rather just leave this planet behind for good.

He hadn't had a chance to see many of the sunsets since they arrived at the Prebassador's
estate a week ago. A few hours after Rose tucked him into bed that one morning, stroking his
hair lovingly until he fell into a blissful sleep, he was summoned to get back to work, needing
to perform a few menial, yet equally laborious tasks for Mrs. Sihn (he couldn't figure out why
she was acting so affronted) before he was sent back to the laboratory. By then Jancon had
acquired most of the ingredients the Doctor needed to create the virus and he began to get to
work. Most of his equations from before were still reliable, but the few he had been toying
with towards the end had changed to absolute gibberish chicken-scratch to his well-rested
eyes and he was forced to reevaluate them all. Everything was in the experimental phase and
the Doctor was still testing out his equations and theories in order to create the safest, least
painful, least messy concoction he could design – while at the same time looking for any
possible loophole in Jancon's scheme to take advantage of. And because of this his days in
the lab began early and ended very late with him collapsing, usually still fully clothed, into
bed until it all began again.

Despite this, however, the Doctor had seen quite a bit of Rose over the last five days.
Whether she was ordered to by Jancon, who had realized quickly that the Doctor worked
better when his spirits weren't so bogged down, or if Rose was just really good at sneaking
away from Ilaria, she always managed to get down to the laboratory for a few hours each day,
usually bringing some food she'd snatched from the kitchens. Those hours flew by so much
faster than the rest that the Doctor even questioned his own internal clock. They would tease
each other like old times, laugh, reminisce about past adventures, and wonder where they
would be off to next. It was almost like everything was back to normal.

And it was during these times that the Doctor realized how terribly wrong something was.

The Doctor knew Rose was strong. Hell, she was the strongest. But she wasn't this strong. No
one was this strong. Not even the Doctor could pretend to be this strong, and he had had
centuries of practice under his belt. He still sometimes dreamed about the steel walls and tiled
floor he was beaten into by Bachir, the oppressing heat of the desert pressing against their
cell on Drephesh, how the grated floor of the Eyal cages dug into his back as he tried to curl
up and find just one comfortable position in the tiny enclosure. He would still flinch, even if
it was hardly noticeable, whenever there was a sound that even remotely resembled the crack
of a whip or the cackle of loose electricity. He was coping, adjusting, but only just, the
memories of their time in captivity too recent and overpowering.

But Rose…Rose, whenever she wasn't shrinking away from others in her never-ending act of
submission, was a right bubble of joy. She would come into the lab, chipper as a song bird,
poking fun at the Doctor and occasionally commenting on his work as if she had any idea
what he was doing – to her credit, she really did try to follow his ridiculously long-winded
scientific explanations that he had no idea meant absolutely nothing to anyone else listening.
It was almost as if she hadn't gone through the same trauma he had. No, she went
through worse – the Doctor had to screw his eyes shut as he remembered the cool metal
cutting into his wrists as Rat-Face bore down on Rose, the look of absolute fear in her eyes –
but now she acted as if it were simply an unpleasant distant memory. She was a far cry now
from the girl the Doctor had comforted back in the auction room only days earlier, and while
on a level he was overrun with relief that she seemed okay now, he couldn't help but wonder
what happened. Why was she acting like she was…forgetting.

You know why, a small voice spoke up in his ear. The Doctor shook his head. Could it
possibly be that? Could it really be his fault? He was out of practice when he did it, having
promised himself he would never, ever purposefully alter someone's memories unless the
situation was extremely dire, but would he be so rusty on the skill that he would forget to
close the door behind him? Was Rose actually forgetting what had happened to her
because he had been sloppy when he suppressed her memories of her rape?

But the greatest question was: Was this something to be upset about?

"Of what are you thinking?" Came the silky voice of Jancon from the opposite desk. The
Prebassador had taken to visiting him in the later hours of the day, never when Rose was
around. He would bring his work and sit down at the one unoccupied table in the room. At
first the Doctor thought it was to watch over him, but as time passed he began to suspect that
the Prebassador was only looking for some company. Forced company, as it may be, but from
what the Doctor had seen, his and Ilaria's relationship wasn't exactly all lovey-dovey.
Sometimes he really thought Jancon was just…lonely.

The Doctor gave a loud sigh in response. "Trying to decide if I should use hydropolyethinal
to expand the fluid within the capsule to release it, or if cosonitric acid would be better at
dissolving the casing wall."

He heard Jancon chuckle as he leafed through his papers. "For that, I cannot help you."

"No, didn't think so." The Doctor relied as he returned to the microscope. The casing Jancon
provided as a sample of what will be insulating the capsules containing the virus strain on the
competitor's tags sat in the small glass Petri dish beneath the lens. The capsule proved
tougher than the Doctor originally thought it would. It seemed Jancon really didn't want any
accidental releases. He couldn't afford to have the competitors go berserk before there were
snatchers around to kill.
In the silence that followed – which was not unfamiliar during Jancon's visits – the
Prebassador suddenly spoke up again, eyes not leaving the documents in front of him. "You
marvel me, Time Lord."

"Yep, well, I'm a pretty marvelous being." Was the Doctor's frivolous response.

Jancon continued as if the Doctor had not said anything. "You contradict every expectation I
had of your race." Now the Doctor didn't say a word. If Jancon were looking he would have
been able to see the way the Doctor's shoulders tensed beneath his thin black shirt, but as it
was, his eyes still did not his work. "I've read reports and histories of your people; they were
proud beings, anciently wise, impassive, vowing never to interfere with the ongoings of the
rest of the primitive universe. And yet before me stands – at least what appears to be – a
young man full of energy and casual of speech. You are not what I was expecting."

"I like to keep people on their toes." The Doctor murmured, once more looking into the
microscope to see the effects of the hydropolyethinal on the capsule wall.

"But what astounds me the most is your existence." At this, the Doctor all but appeared to
freeze, fingers hovering over the focus knobs on the lens. His hearts hammered beneath his
chest agonizingly, blood thick with guilt and regret, but his face remained void of any
reaction. He had trained himself to no longer react visually as the waves of sorrow crashed
over him like the aftershock of the explosion that took away his people and his planet. Jancon
wouldn't even have noticed the change. "I had heard they were all extinct, destroyed during
that terrible war we tell our children about in ghost stories. But here you stand, living proof
that the race carries on. How could that possibly have come about?"

The Prebassador sounded genuinely curious. There was no hint of condescension or mocking
in his voice, and the Doctor did not believe he was asking out of sinister means. But either
way, the Doctor pulled the slide out from under the microscope without having actually,
properly looked at the reaction of the two substances meeting, and placed it carefully
alongside the other samples on a tray. "Naw, let's not talk about me." He tried to sound
casual, as if the subject weren't even remotely interesting to him. "What about you? You're
much more interesting. Especially the fact that you always have all this work to do, and yet
I've never heard of you leaving the estate for a senate or ambassadorial meeting."

Jancon laughed quietly as he smoothed the documents out on the table. "No. I do not make a
habit of attending those gatherings. My father still holds our seat in the stands. I merely act as
an assistant to him, of sorts, looking over the records and files," He indicated the piles of
papers on the desk. "While also keeping up the public profile he is no longer able to sustain.
He is an old man now, so I am responsible for attending dinners and openings in his name
along with making appearances at a few of the minor meetings so as to gain a better
education of the mantel I will one day inherit. My father is getting on in his years," And he
actually did sound regretful about it. For some reason the Doctor had not pegged Jancon as
the family-friendly type. "It should not be long from now that I will be required to take his
place. And then I will lamentably no longer be able to take part in such leisurely activities as
attending parties and organizing 'illegal' gambling events. I may one day be required to
retract my involvement in the Trials all together."
"No day like today." The Doctor quipped, which only caused Jancon smile to widen. He
nodded almost understandingly.

"I know you do not approve, you have made that abundantly clear. I simply hope my
incentive of freedom is enough to ensure your assistance."

"Hey, I'm helping you, am I not?" The Doctor asked, spreading his arms out to show off the
various bubbling, simmering, and smoking concoctions in development within the maze of
glass chemistry instruments. "I just want to get Rose out of here and back home. I'm done
complaining. Now I'm just working."

He stated the last point with enough finality in his voice to carry them back into a silence.
Only the boiling of one of the chemicals in the background penetrated the hush.

IS it something I should be upset about? The Doctor suddenly returned to the topic he had
been thinking about before. Yes, he should be upset, because one's memories are their most
prized possessions. They are pure and unique and you can learn so much and grow so much
from them. You can conquer old fears or get lost in the embrace of someone from long ago.
Memories can be happy. Memories can be horrible. But they are still your memories to be
had and interpreted at your own will, and no one should take that right away from you.

But no, he shouldn't be upset about it. He shared the same memories. He had witnessed her
pain, went through the same suffering of being trained as a slave, treated like an animal, kept
in constant discomfort and fear. And he wished, as he had so many times when thinking
about the Time War, that someone would come along and erase his memories as well so he
would have to be tortured for the rest of his own impossibly long life by the recollections of
his pain and failure.

He never did forget, though. He never could. Even if someone did have the ability to alter
such a large memory anyway, he would probably tell them no. He needed to remember. He
owed that much to the people whose lives he had destroyed. He needed to remember his
failings so as to avoid them again in the future.

But was this something Rose needed to remember?

The Doctor couldn't answer his own questions, but there was one thing he was certain of.
Rose needed to be given her own choice in the matter. He had to allow her to make her own
decision. He would tell her what he did to her memories back at the outpost and what he
thought was happening now and let her choose what she wanted to have done about it. If she
wanted to release the restrained memory of Rat-Face violating her, then, as much as the
Doctor hated it, he would oblige. She had the right to make her own decisions over her own
memories.

Just as he decided this and slid another slide under the microscope – this one a sample of the
condensated vapor from a slightly purple chemical he had been boiling earlier – there came a
huge crash from down the hall, followed by a loud, shrill cry of agonizing pain. The Doctor
leapt up and was already sprinting out the door before his mind even had time to register
what had happened. There was another shriek of pain, quieter this time and fractured by a
loud sob, and the Doctor took off in the direction of the training room. Jancon was hot on his
heels, abandoning his paperwork in the lab. They spun around the corner into the training
room and Jancon froze, sucking in a sharp gasp at the sight before him.

The Doctor was already at the competitor's side, kneeling on the floor which was quickly
beginning to seep with blood. The competitor was laying spread-eagle on his back, his right
leg twisted awkwardly beneath him in the wrong direction. White bone stuck out from his
thigh, the splintered tip poking out like a jagged spear.

"Shh, quiet, it's alright." The Doctor was saying in his calming voice as the man sputtered
and gasped for air. The Doctor's had one hand squeezing his shoulder comfortingly as the
other moved to inspect the injury. But the man wheezed out a cry as the Doctor's fingers
trailed over the already swelling skin and trying to wiggle out of contact, which only caused
more pain and injury.

"It's alright," The Doctor repeated. "I'm a doctor. Let me look at it." The man finally relented
and the Doctor was able to examine the leg. It was not a clean break. The bone was sticking
out about two inches from the skin and was roughly ridged at the end. There were no doubt
fractured fragments inside the leg still. If they remained in there they could cause serious
damage, maybe even fatal it one of their sharp edges nicked an artery. This man needed to go
into surgery. There was no way he could set the bone here.

"What's your name?" He asked the competitor, trying to keep the morbid and unfortunate
news out of his voice and face.

"L-lysan-der." The man gasped.

"Lysander. My name is John. I need you to remain perfectly still for me, okay? Just keep
breathing deeply. That's it." The Doctor reassured him as the man tried his best to stop the
trembling. Lysander yelped as the Doctor put pressure on the leg again. "I need to straighten
the leg, otherwise swelling will occur and cut off circulation to the lower areas." The Doctor
tried to explain rationally.

The man nodded, eyes screwed shut in anticipation of the pain. The Doctor glanced up
quickly to see Jancon still hovering uselessly in the doorway. "Call for the medic." He told
the Prebassador, thinking how that should have been common sense.

But Jancon just shook his head, eyes wide as they took in the amount of blood pulsing out of
the punctured skin. "I cannot." He replied rather breathlessly. The Doctor felt an impatient
anger rise within him.

"He needs a surgeon." He growled out as he began to move the man's calf out from beneath
him as carefully and painlessly as he could.

"I cannot call for him." Jancon repeated, sounding less aghast than before. "He is not on
grounds. He has traveled to Carsala in order to gather the ingredients for that solution you
made earlier this week."

The Doctor grumbled. Yes, this was definitely a situation in which he could have used some
Oblen oil, at least to heal the gaping gash once the bone is reset. "Then he needs to be taken
to a hospital. X-rays need to be done, there could be loose bone fragments entering the blood
system."

Jancon, infuriatingly, just shook his head again. "He is a slave. No hospital will treat him."

"He needs a surgeon!" The Doctor repeated harshly. "If we don't get those pieces out and set
the bone correctly he could die!"

He watched as Jancon swallowed thickly and saw the impeccably composed image Jancon
always portrayed slipping away at the sight of this disaster. And then suddenly the
Prebassador states in a quiet voice, "He's a slave. He's disposable."

A threatening growl escaped between the Doctor's clenched teeth. "Don't you dare."

Jancon swallowed again. He was eyeing the angry Time Lord like a hunted animal, trying to
hide in a bush. "Then what do we do?"

The Doctor had already turned his attention back to the broken leg. Lysander had passed out
at some point during their argument from the pain, which worried the Doctor but actually
made his job much easier. He checked how deep the puncture went, if the ebony bone was
from the femur or a dislocated shard of the tibia, and if there was anything else broken in the
lower leg and hips. "I need clean bandages, some rags, hot water, any kind of antiseptic you
can find, and painkillers, nonsteroidal anti-inflammatory drugs would be best. The strongest
stuff you've got. And something to create a splint with." He listed off the materials as he tore
off the already tattered leg of Lysander's trousers before looking up to see Jancon still
standing, stunned, in the doorway. "Now!"

The Doctor knew he would regret speaking so harshly to his master later, but for now there
was no time to play good-slave. Lysander needed medical attention immediately. Already he
had lost an astounding amount of blood. The Doctor used the discarded pant leg as a
makeshift bandage, pressing it against the wound to stop the bleeding until Jancon returned
with the rest of the supplies.

As if an afterthought, the Doctor realized the trainer was still standing behind him, face a
statue of shock. "What happened?" The Doctor demanded as he continued to press the
already sopping fabric to the injury, careful to avoid touching the protruding bone as much as
possible.

"We were doing our routine exercises." The trainer answered with only a slight quiver in his
voice. "Lysander was on the platforms working his way to the top as we have done often. But
his leg got tangled on one of the ropes as he was climbing up to the next platform, and when
he went to stand up he was pulled backwards. He was off balance and fell off the edge. The
rope was still wrapped around his leg and it caught him as he fell. That's when I heard the
first crack." The trainer winced as his own story brought up the recent memory. "Th-the
sudden weight must have caused the rope to snap, because suddenly he was falling towards
the floor. That's when I think the bone broke skin."

The Doctor glanced up at said platforms. The topmost one brushed just below the ceiling
nearly seventy feet off the ground. He could see the frayed remains of what he assumed was
the rope that caused all this hanging harmlessly alongside another platform forty feet above
them. Lysander had fallen nearly forty feet from that platform, and probably would have been
falling head first judging from the way the trainer explained the accident. It was a miracle he
didn't land on his head and crack open his skull.

He wiped away some of the excess blood from around the wound and began to inspect it
even closer, carefully pulling the sides of the gash apart with his fingers so he could see more
clearly inside. Blood instantly spurted back up, in time with a weak pulse. The Doctors
fingers instantly flew to Lysander's neck, feeling desperately for the steady pulsing of a heart
beat. It was there, but faint. Very faint. The man's breathing was becoming shallower, more
labored in his unconscious state. The Doctor checked the leg again and found the source of
the tremendous bleeding. He cursed colorfully in Gallifreyan.

"What? What is it?" The trainer asked desperately.

"An artery's been severed." The Doctor answered morosely. "He's already lost a lot of blood.
If I don't get it stitched right now –"

Jancon came bursting back into the room, cradling in his arms the supplies the Doctor
demanded. "You don't happen to have a needle and thread in there, do you?" The Doctor
asked without much hope. Jancon shook his head. "Give me the antiseptic and the bandages."

Jancon passed them over and the Doctor got quickly to cleaning the area around the wound
before dabbing the antiseptic into the gash. It was a difficult job with blood continuously
bubbling up. Hashing it out as a good enough job, the Doctor quickly began to wrap the
bandages around the leg. He could set the bone later. For now he really needed to get the
blood congealing properly to stop the bleeding.

The bleeding never stopped, however. It slowly stained its way through the layers of
bandages. Lysander was looking very pale now, almost ghostlike. Then suddenly his body
jerked and twitched.

"What's happening?" Jancon asked.

"He's going into shock from blood loss." Explained the Doctor. He moved up towards
Lysander's head and took his face in his blood-stained hands. Carefully but insistently the
Doctor began to slap him on the cheek. "Lysander. Lysander, listen to my voice. You need to
wake up." He waited a moment, but the man did not respond. "Lysander?" Still no response.
The bandage was now completely red. The Doctor felt Lysander's neck again. The heartbeat
was barely there, he could almost not feel it. He leaned down so his ear rested an inch from
Lysander's lips. He could hardly hear or feel his breath. He was slipping away.

"No…" The Doctor muttered, slapping Lysander across the face one more time. "No. Come
on, stay with me. Wake up. Lysander!"

But he was gone. The Doctor knew it. He could practically feel the exact moment Lysander
let go, his body becoming impossibly limp once again. He stayed at his side for a moment
longer, shuddering with something like a mix of anger and sorrow, before launching to his
feet. He paced a few strides away from the now deathly quiet gathering, hearts hammering
like drums of war in his ears. Suddenly he spun around and lashed out at the closest item he
could find. His foot collided with one of the metal poles holding up the lower platforms. Pain
radiated up his leg from the impact, but he could hardly feel it through his anger. Why was he
acting like this? He had hardly even known the man. But he was a fellow slave, just like
himself, who had no choice in the matter of his fate. And the Doctor…he should have been
able to save him. Why can't I save anyone?! He was useless, utterly useless, just like Bachir
had told him. If he couldn't save anyone, then what was he good for?

Through his outburst he heard the trainer turn to Jancon and ask in a quiet, mournful voice,
"Master, what do we do now?"

Jancon didn't reply for a moment, just staring down in complete shock at the dead body at his
feet. "Take the body outside and dispose of it properly." He answered in a detached manner
that almost caused the Doctor to spin around and throttle him for not caring.

"I meant about the Trials." The trainer responded. "It's in two weeks and you don't have a
competitor anymore."

The Doctor suddenly froze as he felt a pair of eyes searing into his back. Slowly, he turned
around, eyes no longer darkened with anger or sorrow, but now shaded with regret and
acceptance. He knew. Oh, he knew.

He raised his eyes to see Jancon staring at him as if seeing the Time Lord in a completely
new light. No smile graced his lips as he replied to the trainer, "Yes I do."
 Chapter 33

The moment they crossed over the threshold the anklet was activated. The Doctor tried his
best to keep the shout of pain bottled up and instead collapsed sideways into a table, holding
onto its edges as his knees gave out. The excruciating pulse latest half a minute before is
vanished just as quickly as it appeared. The Doctor still clung to the table for support, panting
heavily as he tried to ride out the lingering pain.

"What…was that for?" He finally managed to snarl breathlessly. Lysander's blood still stained
the sleeves of his black slave shirt and had seeped into the knees of the matching trousers. He
was still shaking from the adrenaline rush of trying to save the poor man as well as the shock
and anger of failing to do so. The electrocution did not help.

Jancon carefully closed the door to his study with a definite click. They were back in the
main estate, the Prebassador having led the Doctor out of the training room so the body could
be taken care of, and retreating to the upper floors to an office overlooking the vast expanse
of the Prebassador's land. It didn't seem to bother Jancon that his slave was covered in wet
blood, but the Doctor could feel the eyes of the entire household staff turn and positively
gape at him as he walked through the estate. He ignored them until he caught a glimpse of
blonde hair barreling around the corner a few halls down. Rose froze at the sight of him,
worry evident on her entire face at the amount of red on his hands, arms, chest, everywhere.
It wasn't until he mouthed "It's not mine" did she nod and, with another concerned look, turn
back around. It was clear from the way Jancon stormed down the rest of the corridor that her
presence was not desired.

Now Jancon rested a hand against the door, eyes closed as he breathed shakily, entire body
trembling just enough for the Doctor's acute senses to pick up on. It was clear the
Prebassador was trying desperately to compose himself once more, but the events of the day
wore heavy on his usual methodical demeanor. He pushed himself from the door and walked
with wobbly legs to a stand behind his desk, pulled out a crystal decanter, and poured himself
a liberal amount of the amber liquid within. One sniff told the Doctor how strong the drink
was, but Jancon tossed it back anyway, downing the entire thing in one gulp. His face twisted
in obvious discomfort as the substance burned all the way down his throat.

Taking a shaky breath to compose himself, Jancon finally turned back around to address the
Doctor. He ran a hand through his silver hair and rubbed it down his face before speaking. "I
did not appreciate the way in which you spoke to me earlier." He stated breathily as his
answer.

The Doctor shook out his ankle to try and get the circulation flowing back down to his foot.
"The way I what?" He asked incredulously, pushing himself experimentally away from the
desk. His leg held him up, though it still tingled unpleasantly.

"I will not be commanded by my own slave." Jancon replied as he slowly fought his way
back to his usual measured tone. "You will think again before speaking to your master in such
an insistent tone. It is above your position and on any normal occasion you would be
punished even more severely for you indiscretion, boy."

The Doctor just gawked at him. "The man was dying." He finally managed to say passed the
lump of disbelief in his throat. "I was trying to save his life and you were just… standing
there."

"Regardless," Jancon said stiffly. "I will not tolerate such insubordination in the future."

"Insubordination?" Hissed the Doctor. He could feel his temper rising once again but didn't
care to have the foresight to keep it in check. Here stood a man who had just witnessed
someone die and was conversing with another man still covered in the deceased blood, and
he was acting as if the Doctor had greatly offended his honor. Angrily, the Doctor swallowed
back an even more calloused response and instead snapped, "Lysander, your competitor, a
man you probably paid good money to enslave, just died gruesomely right in front of you,
and you're complaining that I tried to take over the situation and save him?! I
apologize, Master, for being more competent than you – HNGGG!"

Perhaps that comment hadn't been that much less calloused. This time the Doctor couldn't
hold in the growl of pain as the anklet seared against his skin again. Unable to reach the desk
this time, his legs gave out from under him as the electricity coursed through his system and
he collapsed onto his knees, bruising the skin. His entire body went rigid as the fire tore his
nerves to shreds, destroying and shattering the pain receptors throughout his body. After what
his frazzled brain was sure was hours, the unbearable hold on him broke and he collapsed
forward onto his hands and knees, shaking violently. Something metallic coated his tongue
and, spitting to the side, he noticed the saliva tinted orange.

"I know about your training in Eyal." Jancon was saying calmly as the Doctor continued to
try to catch his breath. "Your mannerisms have fallen short of what I would have expected
from their slave training program, but I had decided to overlook such inconveniences at first
because I required your cooperation. Now, however, you have taken far too much advantage
of my leniency. You will treat me as the master you were trained to. Now kneel."

The Doctor was already on his hands and knees. His breath was coming in short, shallow
gasps still as his muscles trembled from the stress of the electricity. He had barely even heard
what the Prebassador was saying, except for the one direct command at the end. He flinched
almost unnoticeably as the memory of learning the meaning of that word reared its ugly head
once more. It wasn't worth fighting the order though; Jancon was already mad enough as it
was, there was no need angering him even more. So the Doctor pushed himself shakily off
his hands so he was sitting up only on his knees, unable to even sit back on his ankles. He
kept his eyes pinned to the floor a few inches in front of him, arms straight and down at his
sides, just as Bachir taught him. He shivered, and for a moment wasn't sure if it was from the
lingering trails of electricity in his system or the lingering memories of everything he had
once endured in this position.

There's a shuffling in front of him as Jancon's shoes sweep across the carpeted room and the
opening and closing of a cabinet. The Doctor thinks he could be going for another drink, but
doesn't lift his eyes. Not until a pair of polished shoes appear inside his limited line of vision
and Jancon orders, "Look up, Time Lord."
The Doctor obeyed the command by slowly letting his eyes roam upwards, dreading what he
might see. To be honest, he expected something very unpleasant to meet his gaze; a cattle-
prod or a collar or some other form of punishment and control. But instead all he saw was a
large container of clear liquid, almost like water.

"I am tired of you disrespecting me." Jancon was saying. "Do you know what this is?" At
first, the Doctor was inclined to shake his head. It looked like water, but from the way Jancon
held the bottle carefully and the large logo for the Eyal Facility on the side he could deduce it
was something else, something far more important.

And then the realization dawned on him. His head shook from side to side, but not in
response to the question. Yes, he knew what it was. He'd had his suspicions while back in
Eyal, but hadn't had the opportunity to prove it until now. He didn't know what was in it, or
how it worked, but it did and he hated it. He hated having his thoughts and actions controlled
for him, unable to make his own decisions. But the worst part was…whatever was in that
solution made him feel useless against his will. Only he could impose his own self-hatred, no
one else should be able to add to that already towering mountain.

Jancon must have known what he meant by shaking his head. "Your trainer delivered this to
me as a gift following you purchase," He continued. "Due to the fact that your training was
not yet complete, and your reliability was still in question. I did not wish to use it in hopes I
could keep you in your right mind, however now I require you to stop thinking and start
doing. You must complete the virus and begin training for the Trials immediately, for the
games begin in two weeks."

"It's impossible." The Doctor finally spoke up in a quiet voice. "The virus requires constant
supervision in this stage of development, and I would barely be able to get all the necessary
restrictors ready and functioning within two weeks as it is."

The back of Jancon's hand suddenly slammed into the Doctor's cheek. He fell from position
as one hand flew out instinctively to catch his fall, the other jumping up to cup the reddened
skin. He blinked forcefully as the strength of the strike caused his eyes to burn, skin stinging
painfully, before quickly pushing himself back into his kneeling position. As he'd learned the
hard way from Bachir, only further punishment would follow from reacting to the strike.

"There is the disrespect once again." The Doctor almost didn't even register the disappointed
tone in Jancon's voice this time. "When I command you to do a task, I expect you to obey
silently. And if you cannot do that by your own will then I will take it from you. Hold out
your hand."

The Doctor ground his teeth together. He felt like he was being spoken to as a toddler and
didn't appreciate it at all. But he stuck his hand out nonetheless, palm facing the elaborately
molded ceiling, and cringed at Jancon placed the container in his hand. "Drink." He was
commanded. How ironic. He would have to willingly take away his own willpower.

Well it wasn't going to happen. The Doctor shook his head and lifted his brow in what he
hoped wasn't a too defiant manner. "No." He stated simply.
Jancon sighed in frustration and ran a hand through his usually well-tamed hair once again. It
was clear he had long ago lost his patience for his slave. "Drink it as commanded, or I will
have your beautiful flower drink it for you, and I heard how adverse humans are to the effects
of the solution."

The words sank in painfully. It was as if his blood had thickened drastically within the last
few minutes and was now agonizingly sluggish in his veins. He hung his head as he
remembered the way Rose collapsed in his arms, delirious in her drug-induced haze, how she
pushed him away, terrified, convinced he had hurt her, convinced he had been the cause of all
her pain. He couldn't do that to her again. He couldn't do that to himself again; he simply
couldn't bear seeing her so scared again.

Lowering his hand, he shuddered as his fingers played with the cap on the container, feeling
it twist off and hearing the contents slosh against the sides. Cringing as he felt the
Prebassador's gray eyes bearing into the top of his head, he raised the bottle to his lips after
muttering a brief, dejected, "Yes, master."

"Apologies for the wait, Captain…"

"Pesi." Ren supplied as the secretary sashayed her way around the desk to her seat. She
smiled kindly as she repositioned a few papers, her orange eyes glistening as they slide up
and down Ren's form unabashedly.

"What can I do for you, Captain Pesi?"

Ren took the sign to sit down, careful to keep his jacket sleeves pulled down to hide where
his skin turned into glove. He had made it inside the Eyal Facility, thanks to the real Pesi's
generous donation of his fingertips. Rat-Face was now laying unconscious and tied up in one
of the smugglers hatches on the shuttle, safe and sound while Ren was busy conducting
business and trying to clear up the mess he started.

"Nearly a month ago we had a slave transport call to our outpost where we had captured two
humans, a male and a female." Ren started, trying to keep his voice even and professional, as
if he were talking about the budget and financials. The secretary nodded encouragingly as she
leaned forward. "I had grown – er – particularly fond of the pair," Ren added a coyly
seductive smile and the secretary giggled knowingly. "And I was in the area on other
business, so my curiosity got the better of me. I wonder," He leaned forward so his arms
rested on the edge of the desk as well. "If they have been auctioned off yet, or if they are still
on the market. If so, I would be interested in offering a rather substantial amount of money
towards their sale."

The secretary sat back and drew up a holo-screen from he desk's surface. Ren could see the
fuzzy logo for Eyal displayed backwards from the other side of the screen. Typing away on a
keyboard that appeared on the desk, the secretary entered the Eyal database and pulled up the
stock search page. "Do you know their designation?"

Ren frowned. "I don't…They were only known as Rose and John at our outpost."
The secretary typed something else he couldn't quite decipher. "Hmm…" She hummed
thoughtfully. "Can I get the number of your outpost, Captain?"

"Yes, it's outpost 8, identification number 43-04-600."

She typed it in and a new screen popped up. The secretary raised her eyebrows. "Looks like
you gentlemen have been having a bit of a scandal out there."

Ren felt his heart jump up his throat. Did they know about the mutiny? Had it been reported
that the real Pesi was missing, that their old captain was a fraud? The woman was looking at
him curiously, so he threw on his best smile anyway and shrugged it off. "Nothing that's not
expected to happen out in the middle of nowhere. The sun's been getting to a few of my
men's heads, but it's cooling down."

With a snicker, the secretary turned back to the holo-screen and began typing again. Ren felt
the breath he'd been holding slowly release. They were both silent for a moment as the keys
clacked together, her fingers flying over the keyboard. Suddenly she turned to him a frowned.

"Yes, I've found their records. Unfortunately it appears they have both already been sold."

It felt as if the universe had instantly stopped turning. The weight of his situation suddenly
slammed into Ren like a speeding train, threatening to crush him. He clenched his hands into
fists and hid them in his lap to conceal the tremble they had suddenly adopted. "When? How
long ago? Who to?" The questions came pouring from his mouth before he could keep them
in check. The secretary pounded away at the keyboard for another moment before answering.

"The file is locked. I can't access it. I'm sorry, Captain." And she really did look sorry. Ren
stared at her, unblinking, for a few seconds, before sighing internally. Just do it, she'll forgive
you.

The next second his face was alight with a charming smile, eyes expressly twinkling with
what he hoped to be sorrow and desperation. Anything to spark her interest and pity. "There's
nothing else you can do?" He asked in a soft, seductive voice.

The secretary bit her lip and looked around. The front office of the Eyal facility was large and
welcoming, with many desks and counters that reminded Ren of banks back on Earth.
However, despite the deep carpets, warm color schemes, and nice wooden desks, there were
clear signs of the darker side of Eyal throughout the room; guards stood and milled around
with their guns and cattle prods at hip, and there were two or three collared slaves sweeping,
cleaning, or silently assisting the secretaries. Ren had watched when he first walked in as a
guard slapped a young red-skinned girl harshly across the face for sweeping too close to his
foot. It was barbarism hidden behind the clean face of capitalism.

"Naslund." Ren snapped back to attention as the secretary he was talking to suddenly called
out. One of the guards walking by turned and, after a brief moment of searching, smiled as he
came over. Ren eyed him suspiciously. He was the guard who slapped the girl earlier. And
now he was grinning casually as he came to lean against their desk. "You were stationed in
block eighteen these last few months, right?"
The guard, Naslund, nodded. "That's right, Vis. Extraterrestrial Intensive Training. Why?"

"Do you remember an alien with the designation MD196305? Should have come in about
two months ago?"

Ren watched as Naslund frowned. The guard made his way around the desk, with no
objection from Vis, and took a look at her screen. Suddenly he started laughing.

"Oh, yes! Pretty Freak! I remember that one well."

Ren ground his teeth at that. "Pretty Freak?" He tried hard to hide the disgust in his voice.
What exactly was that nickname suggesting.

Naslund didn't seem to notice his aversion. "Yes, you should have seen that one, it was damn
easy on the eyes. Thin, but not in a malnourished way like most of this lot, more athletic. Had
this delicious, cheeky mouth and big, expressive brown eyes I could watch begging me all
day long. Shame it was sold so soon, we could have had some more serious fun."

The knuckles holding onto the armrest of Ren's chair had turned white. He took a second to
breathe deeply through his nose, steadying his heartbeat and keeping himself in check before
responding. "Do you know who he was sold to?"

Naslund made a face as he thought. "Dunno who he was. Some rich foreigner. Spent a
fortune on that pretty face, and its mate. Was all very hush-hush."

Ren turned back to the secretary. "Would it by any chance say in the file?"

"Naslund, can I get your log-in ID? You've got more clearance." The guard leaned over the
computer and began typing. There was a soft bing and Naslund stepped back. Vis swooped
in, squinting at the screen. There was the tapping of more keys before the secretary's
eyebrows shot up in surprise. "That's impressive." She muttered.

"What's impressive?" Ren leaned forward eagerly. He needed this information. If he couldn't
find the Doctor and Rose, there was no way he would ever be getting home. There would be
no hope.

The Secretary frowned and bit her lip. "Unfortunately it's still classified information, I can't
share it with you, Captain."

Suddenly Naslund was looking at him suspiciously. "Why you asking, anyway?"

Ren stood up and ignored him. "Thank you for your help." He flashed his most charming
smile at the secretary again. "I'm still going to be doing business here tomorrow and I've
heard you have rooms available here in the facility. Is there anything open for the night?"

"Oh, yes." More typing. Ren was mesmerized with how quickly her fingers flew over the
keys, her orange eyes transfixed on the screen. "We do have a few rooms available, we could
have one ready for you in a few minutes. Do you have any preferences?"

"Closest to the ground floor, if that's possible. And private." He added quickly.
She typed some more. "And will you be desiring any entertainment tonight?" She asked as
casually as one might ask if he wanted extra bath towels, but he knew the intention behind
the question. Would you like us to send any slave up to your room for your enjoyment? Ren
resisted the urge to shudder.

"No, thank you. I'm very tired, I'll be turning in early."

The secretary actually looked a bit disappointed with his answer and Ren suddenly wondered
if she had been offering her company's possessions or if she had been offering herself. It
hardly mattered. His answer would be the same. She would never forgive him for that.

"Here you go." Said the secretary, her voice having lost a little bit of its pleasant jump. She
handed him a small folder made out of heavy paper. Inside was an electronic keycard. "Take
this over to hospitality and they'll activate it and direct you to your room."

"Thank you very much." Ren reached for the folder and as he grabbed it took the secretary's
hand in his and gently kissed her knuckles. She giggled slightly at the motion, cheeks turning
slightly orange as she blushed.

Ren didn't miss how Naslund's orange eyes followed his every movement as he turned
around and went searching for hospitality. He really did hope the guard wouldn't get too nosy.
He needed to get to that computer, whoever the Doctor had been sold to was sure to be listed
on there. Eyal was always thorough with paperwork, something Ren had always hated before
and now was very pleased about. He would have to wait until nightfall when everyone else
had gone in order to sneak onto a computer. He thought briefly about how he'd left Rat-Face
bound and gagged on the shuttle with nothing to eat or drink all day, but shrugged it off. If
the little rodent died, he wouldn't truly care. It would just be unfortunate the Doctor wouldn't
be able to take out his own revenge.

Rose sat crouched against the wall outside the kitchen door, watching the colorful alien birds
swoop in and out of the distant trees. One with gorgeous purple plumage shot into the sky
and opened its beak wide, emitting a tongue of vibrant red flames. Another one of the
creatures dove through the fire, wings spread wide, and when it reappeared on the other side
its blue feathers had changed to match the other's lavender.

Rose thought she'd never grow tired of this. New creatures, new worlds, new adventures.
She'd been traveling with the Doctor long enough to no longer be surprised by all the
diversity in the universe, but it still gave her a warm feeling in her chest to see something she
never would have imagined happening right in front of her eyes. It was a type of feeling she
hoped she'd never grow out of.

And yet she couldn't enjoy the incredible fireworks show being put on in front of her. She
was too worried. Something was wrong with the Doctor. Well, something had been wrong
with the Doctor for a while now, just like something was wrong with her. But the Doctor had
it worse. It was as if something had been stolen from him, something essential to his very
essence. She knew exactly what it was, and it pained her that there was nothing she could do
about it. Nothing at the exact moment, that is. She still had her little plans and her little maps,
but it hardly added up to anything. She was clever, no one would ever deny that, but she
wasn't the brains of their operation. The brain was currently being blackmailed into doing
something completely against its nature, and it was beyond her reach.

Her finger ran over the black marks on her left wrist. The numbers and letters were no longer
painful or inflamed. Now they were part of her, implanted into her skin, marking her for what
they had tried to make her into. A slave. Yes, the Doctor had it much worse. She wore the ink
but he wore the manacles. She had the scars but he had the bleeding wounds.

Blood. There had been so much blood. Even against his black shirt and trousers she had been
able to see it. It stained his hands and his neck and his hair where he must have accidentally
rubbed it in. He had assured her it wasn't his, but it didn't stop her worrying. What had
happened? Who's blood was it? Had he…had he killed someone?

Rose shuddered to think. She knew he had it in him. He was the Oncoming Storm, the
destroyer of the Daleks and Time Lords, the solitary soldier against the darkness that
threatened to consume the universe…but he never raised a finger to fight the darkness
threatening to consume himself. She could see it – she had fought it with him, back when
they had first met and he was still angsting away about the loss of his people – and she could
also see how this entire situation wasn't helping them keep it at bay. There was only so much
the Doctor could take before he would strike.

Rose feared they were turning him into a monster.

The birds flipped around each other, performing amazing somersaults and dives through the
air, sometimes letting out little puffs of smoke like blowing kisses. She could hear them
singing, their deep, melodic voices carrying on the wind. She and the Doctor used to sing at
each other on the TARDIS, competing to see who could act the silliest and still get all the
lyrics right. They don't sing at each other anymore. But you know what they say about the
caged bird…

The door beside her opened and Rose jumped to her feet, expecting Mrs. Sihn to come out
and scold her for being lazy even though she had no orders to complete. But instead she was
greeted with a pair of blood-soaked black trousers. "Oh my God." She launched herself on
him, wrapping her arms tightly around his shoulders, not caring about the wet liquid sticking
to his shirt. "What happened? Are you alright? Who's blood is this?"

The questions poured out in a waterfall of worry. But what worried her most was that the
Doctor didn't react. He didn't raise his arms to hug her back, pulling her close to him the way
he always did in his protective manner that made her feel safe without feeling too guarded.
She held on for a moment longer before retreating back a few steps, cheeks flushed with
embarrassment. Why had she attacked him like that? He wasn't hurt. He'd assured her before.

Or maybe he was. As she stepped away she noticed how his wide eyes were focused on the
ground by her feet, how one of his arms crossed his chest to grip tightly to his other, creating
a barrier over which he rounded his thin shoulders as if trying to form a large walking ball.
He looked…so small and scared.

"Doctor?" Rose whispered curiously. Despite the softness in her voice, though, the Time Lord
jumped, eyes darting to hers at the direct address as if he hadn't actually known she was there
before. Rose stared at him, her dark eyebrows furrowed with concern. "Doctor, what's
wrong?"

The Doctor's eyes darted around the empty lawn for a moment, brow angled downwards in
the middle to give him the look of a lost puppy. "I – I wasn't being g-good." He responded in
a whisper.

Rose was taken aback by the answer. Wasn't being good? "What do you mean? Doctor, what
happened?"

The Doctor just stared at her as if seeing through her. "I wasn't good." He repeated flatly. "I –
I didn't do what I was told. Master asked me to do something and I didn't do it right. I – I
tried to lie to Master."

Rose just gawked at him. "Since when did you start calling him 'Master'? Doctor, what's
going on?" She felt dumb asking all these questions, but she was seriously freaking out. Why
was he acting like this?

"I wasn't good, so he made me be good." She really didn't like the sound of that. "I was r-
right. It was in the w-water. I….I don't like it, Rose. Please, make it stop. I don't like it at all."

He was gripping her by the shoulders now, staring imploringly into her eyes. She couldn't
move, too transfixed with how wide his pupils were. Too wide for being outside on such a
beautiful, sunny day. "Doctor…what did he do to you?" She hopes if she said it slowly and
seriously enough he would finally give her a straight answer.

But to no avail. The Doctor just looked around like a frightened bird before shaking his head.
"I have to get to work. I have to get to training. I have to…"

"Training for what?" He didn't respond. "Doctor, answer me."

The direct command appeared to be exactly what she needed to do. The Doctor snapped back
to attention. "For the Trial. I'm Master's competitor."

Rose felt her heart jump into her throat and feared she might choke on it. It pounded loudly
and kept the words she fought to find at bay. Finally she managed to find her voice enough to
squeak out, "No, he…he has a competitor already. He –" Then she noticed the blood on his
shirt again and gasped. "Is he…did you…?"

Suddenly the Doctor's head was on her shoulder, his face nuzzling into the crook between her
neck and collarbone. "I t-t-tried to save him" He breathed into her skin. "But I c-couldn't. I c-
couldn't stop the bleeding. I c-couldn't do anything. I'm just u-useless. Worthless. I
couldn't…"

His voice trailed away and suddenly Rose was angry. Is this how he felt back in the auction
room, when she was spewing off some rubbish about being worthless and afraid? She hated
the way those words sounded on her Time Lord's tongue, but even more so, she hated that
he believed it. She could feel it in his shoulders as he spoke the words, how they quivered
slightly as if the 'truth' was being forced from his very soul.
"Stop it, alright." She didn't care if her voice sounded too harsh and demanding. If a direct
command was what he needed to get it through his thick head, then that was what she would
have to do. "You are not worthless. You are the most incredible, most important being in the
universe. I'm sure you did everything you could."

And then the Doctor was pushing himself out of Rose's embrace. He didn't look at her as he
turned away, running a hand down his face in a defeated manner. "I have to go. I have to go
to training. And then I have to…have to finish…" He suddenly spun around and fixed her
with an intense gaze. "Don't tell him, Rose."

Rose was stunned by the sudden clarity in his eyes. "Don't tell him what?" She asked.

"Don't tell him." He replied urgently, desperation in his eyes. "He can't know, Rose. He can't
know about the loophole. He mustn't ever find out. Please, Rose, don't tell him. Don't tell him
about the loophole."
 Chapter 34

With a great huff, the Doctor landed flat on his back, the padding on the floor barely helping
as it dented beneath his light weight. He coughed and screwed his eyes shut against the new
throbbing in his solar plexus. The muscles there spasmed slightly as they reacted to the blow
he'd just received to the gut, which sent him sprawling backwards onto the ground. Not the
most painful injury to say the least, but enough to drive the oxygen from his lungs and make
his vision blur.

As his eyes readjusted, the Doctor looked up to find the trainer, Ammacus, towering over
him. The man was sweaty, just as he was, chest heaving from an exertion they both felt. He
looked down on the fallen slave, not glaring, just with a stare, and grunted, "Focus, boy."

If there was enough air in his lungs, the Doctor would have snorted. Sorry, it's not like I'm
being aggressively poisoned every day, the Doctor thought begrudgingly. It's just a bit
distracting.

"You mustn't…give up…or ease up…on anything in the…Trial." Ammacus was saying
between huffs for air. "Not a single…kick…or block…These other competitors…have had
longer training…than you. They will…not be hesitant…or lax." He ran a hand over his brow,
flicking away a few droplets of sweat that had been forming on his eyebrows. "You mustn't
be…either."

The Doctor hid a smirk. He was glad he still had enough in him to get the trainer so
exhausted to the point of not even being able to get a full sentence out. But his joy was short
lived. He was exactly in the same state, if not worse, lying on the ground with absolutely no
desire to move or speak, bare chest surging with each pant and puff. He could still feel where
Ammacus' ankle had slammed into his lower abdomen just moments before, and he had the
faint idea he would be feeling it for a few hours more.

It took almost every last ounce of will power (something Master seemed determined to
override) for the Doctor to grit his teeth and force his limbs to move. Ammacus was going
down for the 'kill move' – a blow stopping just above the neck, and then the Doctor would
have to ask for mercy and be sent off to do some heinous exercise as punishment for losing.
He really didn't need more punishment. But the bottom of Ammacus' foot found thin air
instead of a throat as the Doctor rolled to his side, grunting from the effort as he lashed out
with his own ankle, slamming it into the hinge of the trainer's knee. There was a groan as
Ammacus' leg gave out from the well-aimed kick, and by the time he was on his knees the
Doctor had managed to push himself onto his feet. Ammacus didn't even know what
happened, but suddenly there were arms beneath his own, yanking them up behind his head
until they hung uselessly in the air, a pair of hands clasped together at the nap of his neck to
keep them aloft.

After a dazed moment in which the both of them just stood there, panting, Ammacus began to
laugh. "Oh, well done." He managed between the wheezing. "Well done."
The Doctor felt his own voice hitching with a laugh as well, but he was breathing too hard to
make any lasting sound. His hands clasped behind the trainer's head carefully came undone
so he could place them on either side of Ammacus' head, one by his left ear, the other along
his right jaw. One jerk and the man's neck would snap. "Dead." The Doctor exhaled with a
sense of finality.

Ammacus gave one more impressed laugh before grunting. "Yes. Alright. Get off me." The
Doctor instantly did as he was told, backing away and giving the trainer back the use of his
arms. His own fell to his sides, hands flat, fight gone from his limbs as they continued to
shake from the surge of adrenaline slowly fizzing out into fatigue. Ammacus stood carefully
and turned to see the slave with his eyes set on the ground, ready for his next instruction even
as his chest continued to heave and mouth sat agape as it tried to funnel in enough oxygen.
"He's sure got you on a strict regiment." Ammacus snorted. "At ease. And take a break. You
deserve it."

The Doctor instantly relaxed his shoulders, letting his whole frame practically cave in on
itself. It was exhausting, being a respectful slave, but he was hardly given a choice in the
matter. "Thank you." He nodded to the trainer.

Ammacus just grunted and jerked his head towards a benched area in the corner. "Get some
water and sit down. You look like you're going to fall over."

Likewise, the Doctor wanted to retort, but held it in. They both made their way slowly over to
the benches and the large pitcher of cool water sitting nearby. It was a relief. The water was
pure, untainted, no chemicals or drugs that dulled the countermanding circuits to the munus
exsecutiva frontal lobe and kept the Doctor's will locked away. Nothing but water in the most
perfect sense.

The Doctor made his way over there, limping slightly where Ammacus had given him a
Charlie Horse to the calf earlier. He began to pour the beautiful liquid into a cup as he threw
an inconspicuous glance over his shoulder. The trainer was on the other side of the room,
unwrapping the boxing tape from around his knuckles – the Doctor was not given the
privilege of protecting his hands for, as Ammacus explained in great detail, he would not
have any form of defense while in the Trial either. Train how you will perform, he was always
saying.

Taking the opportunity while Ammacus had his back to him, the Doctor put the cup down
and inhaled sharply through his nose. His face screwed up in concentration as he forced his
lungs to open the second chamber of his main respiratory system. There, he had been
working all morning to isolate the molecules of the drug, absorbing it from his bloodstream
and relocating it to the sectioned walls of his lungs. It hurt, making breathing difficult at best,
resulting in how out of breath he was during hand-to-hand combat training, but it was worth
it. Gathering every last molecule in his airway, the Doctor let out his bated breath, exhaling a
plume of gray. It twirled through the air like smoke, its fingers reaching out and disappearing
from sight.

The Doctor couldn't help the smile that pulled on his lips. Rassilon, that felt good! There was
nothing like the taste of free will. Not even water could compare.
But it came damn close, especially after the workout the Doctor had just had. He finished
pouring the water into his cup and turned around in time to see Ammacus striding back
towards him. Good timing. Carefully cradling his water, still acting docile enough to appear
the same as before, the Doctor sat himself down on one of the padded benches. A sigh
escaped him as his aching muscles began to relax.

They had been at this for a week now, training and fighting and sciencing. That's not a word,
is it? Sciencing? The Doctor rolled the word around in his head before deciding it really
should be and adding it to his mental dictionary. He rotated his left shoulder, hearing the joint
click and stretch. He really was out of shape. Two and a half months of captivity and partial
starvation really didn't do much for your health. In any other situation the Doctor should have
been able to pin Ammacus down in less than a minute. He had the lightening fast reflexes –
thank you, Time Lords – and previous training for it, it really should have been a piece of
cake.

Had it not been for the drug. The Doctor still couldn't figure out exactly what it was (he had a
few other things on his mind at the moment) be he was no where closer to liking it here than
he did back in Eyal. At least Master wasn't treating him like a dog the way Bachir did, but it
wasn't all that much better. It made him slow, fearful even, mind muddled with a constant
paranoia of displeasing his master to the point where it took him three whole days to
convince himself it was okay to use his secondary respiratory ejection system. And if that
made it hard to fight, it certainly made it hard to science.

That word really should be a verb.

Ammacus poured himself the remainder of the water and collapsed onto the bench across
from the Doctor. "Anything hurting?" He asked. The Doctor held in another
snort. Everything, thank you. But he didn't say it. And apparently he didn't need to. Ammacus
pointed at the Doctor's left leg. "Give it here" He instructed.

The Doctor lifted his leg – somehow both numb and throbbing in pain at the same time – and
rested it on the trainer's knee. Ammacus began massaging the muscles on his calf back to life.
And, Rassilon, it hurt more than expected. The Doctor stifled a hiss as the trainer continued
to massage the deep tissue with the heel of his palm.

"So, where did you serve?" He suddenly asked out of the blue.

The Doctor's eyes burst open at the unexpected question. "Sorry?" He gasped out in surprise.

"Well, you obviously have military training." Ammacus replied as he drove his fingers deeper
into the now pliable muscle as if it were clay he was sculpting instead of flesh and tissue.
"Your techniques are all standard in most galactic militaries, although you're much better than
any mercenary I've come across before, and you have the stance for it." He paused for a
second, continuing to massage. "Not the mention your eyes."

At a loss of what else to say, the Doctor settled with, "What about my eyes?"

"Other leg." The Doctor retracted his left leg and brought up his right instead. The massaging
continued. "Well, for starters, they're about a thousand years older than you are. And you
can't hide that haunted look within them either. I've seen it all too often before."

The Doctor didn't respond at first. He didn't retort that his eyes were the same age as he was,
mostly because he didn't believe that lie anymore either. They had seen things and were going
to see things no pair of eyes should ever expect to see in their lives. And from the looks of it,
so had Ammacus'.

Maybe it was because of that fact that the Doctor suddenly found like lips moving.

"The Time War." The words fell like a death bell from his tongue. Ammacus stopped
massaging his right calf for a second before quickly covering up his hesitation by tapping the
Doctor on the shin. The Time Lord took the hint to put his leg down and obeyed. "It was the
Last Great Time War." The Doctor found himself saying again in a dead voice. "I served on
the front line."

"The Time War." Ammacus repeated with a thoughtful look. "I read about that in a book
once. Never thought it actually happened."

"Oh, it happened, alright." The Doctor sighed as he took another sip. The smooth water felt
like jagged chips of ice scratching down his raw throat.

Ammacus didn't say anything else, didn't press on. And for that the Doctor was grateful. He
didn't want to talk about it, didn't want to relive it. But too late. As he sat there, images of
towns, cities, planets burning plagued his mind, memories long suppressed suddenly rising
to the surface again. But he was too exhausted to react to them at all. All he felt was a
bottomless, endless sadness pressing against his insides, screaming to get out.

Then finally a voice mercifully cut through his memories. "I served in the army myself."
Ammacus was saying. "For the Draxets during the Coll System's War. That's how I wound up
here."

The Doctor arched an eyebrow. "Prisoner of war?"

"Yeah…could have had it much worse off, though." Ammacus shrugged. "I was just a foot
soldier, nothing important enough to keep around for interrogations, or as a hostage, so they
sold me and the rest of my platoon to the slavers. My first master was this fucking pretentious
Drephesh, bought me off Eyal nearly two decades ago now. Used to loan me out to all his
rich friends to train their competitors of the Trials." Suddenly he stopped talking, a haunted
look washing over his face. The Doctor knew that look. It was the same one he had just been
wearing moments before. Eyes glazed over, brow furrowed, lips parted in a silent cry for
forgiveness, for oblivion. Ammacus dragged in a shuddering, wrecked breath. "I've sent so
many innocent boys to their deaths."

The Doctor leaned forward. "This wasn't your fault." He said in a quiet, reassuring voice.
"Their deaths, Lysander's death, or any of it. You didn't have a choice."

"Yeah, well none of us do, do we?" He replied matter-of-factly. "But it doesn't make what we
have to do feel any less wrong or guilty, does it?" He stood up abruptly, ending the
conversation and whatever connection the two might have been making, and threw back the
rest of his water. "Alright, back on your feet. I want a cool-down perimeter run and then ten
sets of each core exercise before you hit the showers and go back to the lab, understood?"

With a heavy sigh the Doctor forced himself back onto his feet, finishing off his own water
before placing the cup back down by the pitcher. "Yes, sir." He muttered, taking off to do as
told despite is aching, angry, rebelling bones.

Rose was in the kitchen when Jancon found her. Mrs. Sinh had asked for her assistance in
cleaning the extra dishes, pots, and pans used for the ambassadorial dinner the Ligtech's
hosted the night before, and, as Ilaria has consistently reminded her through her various off-
handed comments, Rose was in no position to refuse. Although she had a sneaking suspicion
that all these new chores they had her doing were really just an excuse to keep her from going
to see the Doctor every chance she could.

Like that was ever going to stop her.

Dishes had always been the bane of Rose's childhood. She'd nearly danced for joy when her
mum finally got a dishwasher installed. But now she was back to hand washing. It was all
very confusing; here they had spaceships and computer systems and fully functioning
laboratories, but no dishwasher. Rose shrugged. I guess that's what slaves are for, she thought
bitterly.

"A moment, Miss Thorn, if I may?" Came the typically too polite voice of their jailer from
behind her. Rose didn't have to fake the little jump of surprise; she hadn't heard him
approaching at all.

Rose didn't say anything, just put the pot she'd been scrubbing clean down on the counter and
waited. As expected, it didn't take long for Jancon to start speaking again. "I have come to
enquire as to how your mate is doing. I have not been able to ask him myself, and Abyss
knows he is not about to share how he truly is with me."

Rose turned around and tried to look as innocent and cooperative as possible. "Sorry, I dunno.
You haven't been letting me see him."

Jancon sighed. "Rose, I respect your spirit, it has always been a matter of great admiration
from my part, but the persistent prickle of your thorns on my side is growing tiresome. I
know you often sneak away from your chores to visit him, and twice this week could not be
found in your chambers at night. I have allowed it because he needs you – that much is quite
clear – but if you continue to insult me and my intelligence I will be forced to devise some
form of punishment for you. Namely, an end to visitation rights…" He let the sentence hang
in the air.

Rose held a small glare for a moment longer before replying. "He's functioning, if that's good
enough for ya." She chewed on her lower lip. "But that's not good enough for me."

Jancon quirked an eyebrow. "What do you mean by 'he is functioning'?"

"I mean there's petrol in the tank but the engine won't turn on." Rose snapped back with a
saying she'd heard Mickey say a few times after long shifts in the garage, complaining about
his coworkers. Jancon didn't seem to understand what that meant anymore than she had at
first. Rose just massaged her temple with a soft groan. "He said something the other night
about the drug acting as a dampener to the something-us something-else-uscenters of the
brain. Like the decision making parts of his mind. He's doing what you tell 'im to do cuz the
drug stops him from thinking about what to do himself. But seeing as you bought him to do
something you don't understand, how the hell do you expect him to do it when he can't use
his own brain?"

Jancon nodded minutely, arms crossed over his chest. A stray piece of silver hair hung over
his eyes. Again Rose was struck by how attractive the man actually was. But only in look –
with his weird grey skin and silver hair and matching eyes – everything else about the
Prebassador was absolutely barking mad. "So you are suggesting I should cease the
administration of the drug?"

Rose threw her hands up. "Yes! Yes, of course that's what I'm suggesting! You shouldn't have
put him on it to begin with! He was already doing everything you asked, and you could have
just kept using me!"

The Prebassador tilted his head to the side and squinted at her. "You are not reliable
incentive. Desires change. Greed takes control. Selfishness and survival become premier to
that of others."

At this, Rose just snorted and turned back to the dishes, ending the conversation in what she
knew was possibly the rudest way and loving it. "Yeah, well, just cuz you're a heartless
bastard…" She muttered to the suds in the sink.

There was a soft sigh behind her. "I do not wish to see you harmed, my Rose, and that is why
I must inform you that your mate will leave you." His voice was soft and accented with
something that almost sounded like sympathy. "And if John does not die in the Trails then
there will come a day when he will abandon you. It is in the nature of the guilty and the
damned."

When she first entered the laboratory that night, she found the Doctor sprawled out on his
stomach on one of the lab tables, one palm cradling his jaw while the other poured a strange
purple substance into a measuring cylinder. A thick wall of fetid smoke permeated the air and
sent her into a coughing fit within seconds of entering the room. The fit didn't stop her,
however, from seeing the way the Doctor jumped at the loud, unexpected sound.

"It's okay. It's just me." Rose called through the curtain of smoke, trying to squint enough to
see his face. Maybe he was grinning now. It kind of looked like that. "What happened in
here?"

The Doctor glanced around the room with a frown. "Oh, right, the smoke." The Time Lord
replied as if this was the first time he'd noticed it. "Well, the solution wasn't quite as stable as
I expected it to be. There were some…unforeseen results."
"Yeah, no kidding." With a wave of her hand, Roe tried to clear the air, but the smoke seemed
to be completely infused by now. All she could do was cover her mouth and nose with the
back of her hand. "And you're lying on the table because…"

"Too sore to keep standing." The Doctor groaned as he reached for another heat calibrator a
few feet away across the desk. He attached it to the maze of tubes and funnels before
readjusting the height of the conical flask now holding the purple stuff. More fumes wafted
up from the mixture as it was heated again, but was caught, instead, in the canula and quick-
cooled with another mixture back into a liquid, now bizarrely indigo colored. Rose shook her
head. It looked like a scene out of a stereotypically constructed 1950s sci-fi film.

"Did you just say you're too sore to stand?"

The Doctor shrugged with one shoulder. "And sit. And move. And breathe. Even to lie down,
but it's definitely the lesser of the evils."

Rose just shook her head. "'Ow does he expect you to do this…Trials thing if you can't even
stand up?"

"No idea." The reply was short and flippant, as if the Doctor didn't really care enough to think
about it. He would do it and that was that. Rose knew that for the last couple of days the
Doctor had been able to excrete the majority of whatever that drug was out of his system, but
sometime she just wasn't sure if he got it all. He was still wildly too obedient. Where was her
fervent fighter? He was locked in there somewhere with her cheeky best friend, not gone,
just…napping.

Maybe it had something to do with his memories. Maybe it had something to do with her
memories. Maybe something had hap-

Fingernails raked over her skin, leaving long red welts running down her bare arms and
chest. Heavy breathing, panting, roaring in her ear, breath hot and stale, smelling of rotting
calcium. Fingers on her shoulders, on her waist, on her hips. Pounding. Something was
pounding. Tearing. Grunting. Salt water running down her cheeks, over her lips. A shouting.
Pained. Desperate. Broken.,

"ROSE!"

Rose shook her head and frowned. Where had that thought come from? Finding herself back
in the laboratory, Rose felt herself shiver for no apparent reason. It wasn't cold in the room in
the slightest – on the contrary, it was actually a bit uncomfortably warm. It was probably
from a mixture of worry for the Doctor and anticipation of what was to come, that had to be
it. What else could it be?

"Well, you won't have to worry about that." He announced confidently as she swept further
into the room and threw a pile of papers down on the lab table next to the Doctor's shoulder.
Finally the Time Lord looked up from his chemistry set and glanced over at the papers with
his round, expressive eyes. Eyebrows creased in confusion.

"What's this?"
Rose tossed the paper on top right in front of the Doctor's face and wasn't quite able to keep
the proud look off her face. "Our way out."

The Doctor picked up the paper and ran a curious eye over it, taking in every detail before
turning back to his companion with even more questions rising up in those chocolate orbs. "I
don't understand." He finally admitted. Rose rolled her eyes.

"I've been scanning out the estate – every hallway, every garden, every secret passage – and
I'm pretty sure I've found the perfect way to sneak out of here unseen. See this corridor?" She
jabbed one of the penciled-in hallways on the map with her finger. "It's hidden behind a
portrait of this guy I think might be Jancon's dad. But anyway, the portrait is right next to my
room in the estate and goes straight to the kitchens. And while I was in there doing dishes
earlier I noticed a small door inlaid in one of the wine cellars. I asked another servant about it
and she said it was a crawl-tunnel leading to the servant's quarters for during the years of
winter when snow would block all the entrances to the main estate building. I've convinced
Chirla – that's the servant girl – to keep my door unlocked tonight, telling her some wild story
about our undying love for each other that made her gush and blush and giggle like a school
girl and said how much I missed lying in your arms or something ridiculous like that."

Not really that ridiculous, though, she tried to keep that thought at bay. "Once I get to the
servant's quarters, Sinh keeps the keys to the slave rooms in a box by the front door. I can just
slip in, grab you, and we can sneak out through the servant's yard to that exercise trail just out
back that I saw you on the other day with the trainer. I overheard Iliaria saying she should
start running into town every morning instead of flying – she's thin as a stick and thinks she's
the size of a whale. I guess women are the same all over the universe – but that means town
is within running or walking distance. Once we get there we can figure out how to find our
way back to the TARDIS and get the hell away from here!"

She smiled excitedly at the Doctor, expecting him to respond just as eagerly, but instead the
Time Lord just averted his eyes with a deep, sorrowful sigh.

"It's not going to work, Rose." His voice was calm but dark, heavy with defeat. Rose's smile
instantly vanished, but she fought to keep it up anyway.

"Well, yeah, there might have been some facts I overlooked, but since when have you been
against improvisation? I was pretty sure it was your favorite kind of –ation."

The Doctor just hung his head even further. His hand, which had been fiddling with a dial on
the heat calibrator, moved to ruffle through his hair before collapsing heavily back to the
table. The strained, expectant silence stretched on for a moment longer before the Doctor
suddenly opened his mouth and said the last thing this faithful companion expected.

"Rose, we're slaves."

The hush that followed those three words were so loaded a gun would be jealous. Rose just
stared at him, any hint of her excited smile gone so quickly she looked like a completely
different person than the one who was speaking earlier.
Finally, "Don't – Don't say that, Doctor." Her voice came out sounding smaller than she
meant it to. "We're not –"

"But we are, aren't we? Just slaves. Or at least I am. Just a useless, mindless slave."

Rose was thrown back by how much bitter acceptance was in his voice. He still wouldn't look
up at her, eyes transfixed in a heated glare with the black table top.

"Stop it!" She finally snapped. "Just stop!"

"You stop!" Rose reeled backwards, stunned and scared. She had never heard the Doctor
erupt like that, not to her at any rate. Never to her. He turned to her with his fiery black eyes,
drilling her to the spot, snarl forming on his lips. "You humans, with all your hope and
optimism and trust. I'm EXHAUSTED trying to keep up with you! There is no hope! You
cannot trust anyone! As soon as you do, you sign away your life! You should NEVER have
trusted me, Rose Tyler, I RUINED your life. I made you a slave."

CRACK!

The Doctor had to grab the side of the table to keep from falling off the other side. His other
hand flew instantly to his stinging cheek, red from Rose's sudden slap.

"Finished, are ya?" Rose roared with her hands on her hips. With a hiss of pain, the Doctor
finally looked back up at her. The black had faded from his eyes, leaving them brown and
surprised yet again. "Good, because we have more important things to worry about right now
than your own emotional breakdown." She paused, waiting to see if the Doctor was going to
respond. But the Time Lord remained silent, eyes once again on the black table as his
shoulders slumped. Rose hoped he was feeling ashamed of himself for breaking down and
losing hope on her like that. She held no sympathy for him after that eruption.

It finally looked like he was about to say something, mouth opening and some strangled
sound managing to make its way out, when a shrill whistle suddenly cut through the tense
quiet of the room. They both spun around to the chemistry set, frowning. The indigo mixture
was now a sickly looking green, bubbling slowly, the whistling coming from the release of
even more fumes through the narrow opening in the flask. Rose heard the Doctor swallow
heavily. His face was creased with something between worry, shame, and detachment. For
some reason it scared her more than his shouting.

"What is it?" She finally asked, whispering for no apparent reason. They were alone in the
room.

The Doctor's brow furrowed even more before he replied with a simple. "It's done."
 Chapter 35

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Silence followed in the wake of the soft pounding and she immediately felt silly. Of course,
there was a very good chance he was already asleep, as he had said he would be turning in
early and it was already pretty late into the night. And even if he wasn't, why would he open
the door for her and be interested in what she had to say? She was only the help, after all.

And yet, to her surprise, moments later she could hear footsteps padding up to the door. The
wood creaked as if someone were leaning against it before it finally opened a few inches,
enough to reveal one mesmerizing eye.

A smile stitched itself onto her face, although it didn't take much persuasion, the single eye
having pulled it out already. "Good evening, Captain." She greeted in her silkiest voice.

The door opened further to reveal a surprised Ren, though he was very quick to keep the
shock from showing too much in his face. "Hello." He cleared his throat quietly. "Vis, was
it?"

"Vistorya." She amended as her smile brightened even more.

A flash of something like horror crossed his face, but he managed to hide it just as quick as
his initial shock. "Well – Vistorya…to what do I owe the pleasure? Is there something
wrong?"

"No, not at all." Vis was quick to clarify. "I'm sorry for coming by so late, Captain, but I just
want to make sure you have everything you need for the night and that you're satisfied with
the facility's service."

The human had to force the lie passed the barred teeth he was trying to hide. "Yes, I'm very
satisfied with the facility's service, thank you."

Vis tilted her head to the side in what she knew would be a slightly seductive look of concern.
"May I come in?"

It took Ren's mind about half a second to have one of the longest, most grueling internal
arguments it had ever experienced, not a hint of it showing in his face. But in the end he
managed a smile and stepped aside, allowing Vis access to his room. She flashed him a
dazzling smile as she slinked passed, accidentally – maybe not so accidentally – brushing her
shoulder against his chest. Ren felt his heart constrict and blood begin to race, but not
because of the usual reasons. He fought against the panic. He as just inviting her inside. She
knew where the Doctor was. She knew who had purchased him and Rose and where they
were being kept. She was, at the moment, his key to getting home. He needed her. And he
was just inviting her into the room. That didn't mean anything was going to happen between
them tonight.
Right?

Ren closed the door behind her as she made her way over to the small table and chairs
situated off to the side. Ren stood there a bit awkwardly, unsure how to proceed. "Uh…I'm
sorry, I didn't really bring much with me, or I'd offer you a drink."

Vis waved his comment off. "Don't be ridiculous, we should be offering you drinks, anyway.
May I?" She gestured towards one of the chairs. Ren nodded positively, although he felt
anything but.

"Is it really customary to treat employees so well here?" He asked as he sat down across from
her, back almost ram-rod straight as his anxiety kept him from relaxing. "It's not like I'm
buying any of your … stock." He forced the word out, which was only slightly better than the
only other word there was for it. Slaves. You would think after ten years of surviving on this
planet, he would be used to the idea of slavery. But something about having grown up in the
red, white, and blue land of the free produced a complete mental block towards the whole
concept.

"We take care of everyone who comes through our doors." Vis said as she leaned forward.
"Whether they are customers, employees, or, as you say, stock. We are the greatest company
on the planet, our service must be up to par with that reputation as well. Also, we take care of
our own here, especially those who work so hard out in the middle of the desert to keep our
interested safe." Her voice might as well have been winking at him from the way the words
slid off her tongue. Despite her explanation, Ren had the sneaking suspicion that it wasn't
usually company policy to send representatives to their employee's doors at night to make
sure they were enjoying their stay.

"Which reminds me," Vis continued. "The company log from today showed that you declined
joining in on any of the entertainment features we have offered." Ren resisted the urge to
flinch. Entertainment features. Okay, yes, there was a word worse than stock for what these
people made their money on. He knew exactly what she meant by entertainment
features. Slaves forced to allow themselves to be used by anyone who couldn't keep their
pricks to themselves for more than two minutes at a time.

"No," Ren said smoothly. "I didn't. The type of…entertainment offered in those rooms aren't
exactly to my taste."

"Yes, I can tell you are a man of more personal interests." Vistorya intoned as she leaned
forward, placing a hand on the top of Ren's knee as her orange eyes bore sparklingly into his.
Ren stared down at the hand. The nails were painted a professional shade of pink, but were
chipped along the tips from where her fingernails clacked against the keys of her computer all
day. Her knuckles bend as she slowly caressed his knee.

Immediate instinct wanted Ren to brush the hand away, but he let it stay. He didn't say
anything about it, didn't take it in his own. He more or less ignored it entirely as he threw
caution to the wind and moved closer to the table – though not quite close enough to be
within reach of Vis's soft red lips.
"Can I confess something to you, Vistorya?" He asked as suggestively as he could manage.
He could see the slight tremor of excitement run through the Drepheshie girl as she nodded
encouragingly. Ren faked a sigh of resignation, an 'oh, all right, you caught me' smile
flickering on his face. "I didn't travel all the way to the city for a meeting and then just
happen to decide to come here for the night. I came explicitly to look for those two slaves I
mentioned earlier."

Vis's hand slipped off his knee and came to act as a rest for her chin. "Oh?" She questioned
with a dip of her eyebrows. Ren guessed that was his cue to go on.

"You see, the report said they were claimed wild in the middle of the desert, but the truth is,
that was a cover up I invented and had my men follow along with. The real story is that they
are my own personal slaves."

Vis looked like she was about to say something, but Ren quickly held up his hands, silencing
her before she could start. "Yes, I know it's illegal for an Eyal employee stationed outside the
city and HQ areas to own slaves, but they were gifted to me before joining many years back.
My family has a long lineage of owning slaves, and my uncle didn't know about my
ambitions to join Eyal when the two were signed over to me.

"But the thing is, I have owned them both for a very long time. And I know it's frowned upon
to form such deep connections with your property, but I simply couldn't help it, I've grown
very attached to both of them. The male practically raised me and the female…well, the
female has been a close companion for many years. I never meant for them to be discovered,
and I was planning on simply coming here to purchase them back under a different alias, but
I did not expect them to go onto the market so soon. Especially since the male can be quite
unruly with anyone else trying to control it. So please," He reached across the table and took
her free hand into both of his. Vis gave him a startled look. "I know you know who has
purchased them. I simply wish to propose a counter offer to them. I need those two back."
And his eyes began to water as he thought about what would happen if she said 'no'. Good,
extra theatrics. He let a single tear slide out.

That seemed to do the trick. Vis stood from her chair with a sympathetic "oh" and came to
kneel in front of him, taking his face into her hands. She gently kissed his cheek, the one with
the alligator tear tracking down its side. "I can't even imagine," She whispered into his ear.
"what it must be like to love one of those things so dearly," She kissed along his cheekbone
tenderly. "that you would risk so much to get them back." She kissed his other cheek. "It's so
refreshing," Vis now whispered in his other ear. "to see a man who truly cares about fighting
for what he loves."

And then she was kissing him full on the mouth, her soft lips pushing against his as her hand
on the back of his neck held him in place. Ren's eyes burst open with surprise. No, no,
no! This was not what he wanted! But she wasso close to helping him. Ren had her in the
palm of his hand. He didn't want to screw it up now, especially not after that false confession
of his. If she became bitter it would be only too easy for her to report him to the authorities,
and not only would that take him straight to jail, but it would only be a matter of time before
they realize he is actually human. And that discovery would most definitely land him right
back inside this very building, but instead of being treated to a fancy room he would be
huddled over and shivering in a cage, searching for scraps for food and calling any lowlife
Drephesh 'master'.

He couldn't risk that. And so, with a heavy heart, Ren's lips parted, tongue wandering forward
to explore the woman's mouth as her own lips parted way. One of his hands found its way up
her arm, across her shoulder, to rest at the nape of her neck, fingers entwining into her hair as
he imagined the strands he caressed were blonde, that the lips ravishing his own belonged to
someone else, someone familiar and beautiful and so perfectly human.

They broke apart after a moment as they both realized they needed to come up for air at some
point. "So you'll help me?" Ren gasped as his thump continued to stroke the skin beneath her
left ear.

Vis leaned forward and claimed his mouth again, maneuvering herself into his lap, straddling
his hips daringly. Her lips moved from his mouth to his cheek and up his jaw line, stopping as
she pulled his earlobe into her mouth, sucking and nipping on it.

"Tomorrow." She whispered back.

 Chapter 36

"It's done?" The question came out as a startled whisper. It's funny how two syllables could
both diffuse the tension in one topic and heighten the tension to astronomical levels in
another. The Doctor stared morosely at the still whistling, green concoction as if he took pity
on it, but Rose recognized immediately that the emotion was not actually directed towards
the chemical. No, it was almost certainly directed inwards. And it wasn't pity she saw in
those eyes once that realization crossed her mind. It was remorse, in its most basic, primitive,
unadulterated form. It was the look of a man staring over the barrel of a smoking gun and
knowing his finger was the only one on the trigger.

Not taking his eyes off the solution, the Doctor replied with a solemn, "Yeah."

A grimace crossed the Doctor's face as he took a step closer to the chemistry set. He used the
edge of the table to balance himself as he wobbled slightly, tipping dangerously to the side as
he walked. In a matter of seconds Rose was on the other side of the table, ready to help. But
one look down told her the Doctor had grossly under exaggerated when he said he was 'just
sore'. Rose gasped, "Your leg!"

Even through the dark material of his trousers, Rose could see his left knee swollen to twice
its usual size, straining against the fabric. The Doctor was barely putting any weight on it at
all.

"Felling guilty about slapping me now?" The Doctor questioned through clenched teeth. Rose
rolled her eyes.

"Not when you lie about how hurt you are to begin with. What happened?"

The Doctor gave a dismissive shrug. "Oh, it's nothing. Just a training accident, no big deal."

"Yeah, because the last man to have a training accident here ended up being just fine."
Sarcasm dripped from each word as she wound an arm around the Time Lord's waist. The
Doctor scoffed.

"I'm hardly going to keel over from a bit of swelling. I'm a Time Lord, not some fragile
Laksen. It'll go away in a few hours, it's just…tender for now. Over there, please." He
instructed as he ground his teeth together from the effort of trying to take a step forward.

Rose helped him hobble around the edge of the table to where he indicated. Snatching up a
pair of heat tongs, the Doctor carefully removed the hot flask from its holder. The whistling
instantly died down, like taking a kettle off the stove, but the mixture kept its sickly green
hue. "Now, let's see if all this trouble was worth it." The Doctor muttered, more to himself
than his companion.

Rose frowned. "Hang on, you told me just yesterday that you were still working on the
formula."
At that, the Doctor cringed. "Yeah, well, that may have been another lie."

"Two strikes already, Doctor, you're not doing yourself any favors today." She tried to sound
playful, but the words came out more callous and reprimanding than she intended.

As if in reaction to her tone, the Doctor shivered, eyes instantly darting to the ground. "I'm
sorry." He murmured almost silently to the tiles. Then he looked back up, eyes hesitantly
seeking hers out. "Rose, can you do me a favor?"

Rose nodded, not trusting her voice. What was with that sudden apology? She had just been
poking fun, but had he taken it seriously? Did he think she was threatening him?

The Doctor sighed before stating, "Slap me again."

Rose just blinked. "What?"

"Slap me. Across the face. Just like before."

"No!"

"Please – "

"That first time was for your own good, I'm not doing it again."

"Listen – " His voice was tinted slightly with the sound of desperation, but she just ignored it.

"You may be going on a self-destructive rampage, Doctor, but that doesn't mean I'm going to
help!"

"Rose, just listen to – Oh, never mind."

So instead, seemingly from out of nowhere, the Doctor's own hand came flying up
and smacked across his own face. The sound was startlingly loud from standing so close and
Rose stumbled backwards in surprise.

"What the hell is wrong with you?" She practically shouted. "Are you out of your mind? Do
you actually like getting hurt?"

But the Doctor wasn't listening. The force of the slap – admittedly stronger than he had
intended – send his head snapping to the side, the skin on his cheek red and stinging. He
shook his head to get ride of the tingling, gasping dramatically. "That's better." He breathed
as he crinked his neck to the side.

"Well, I'm glad you're enjoying your own torture." Rose huffed, crossing her arms over her
chest.

The Doctor shook his head one more time before peering over at his companion. "Oh, come
off it." Was his gruff reply. "It was a slap. Hardly qualifying enough for torture. Besides, it
was necessary."
"Oh, was it?"

"Yes, it was." The Doctor returned her sass with a wag of his eyebrows. "There was a
subconscious buildup of the psychocentric side effects of the induced cerebral paralysis that
needed to get broken up in order to satisfactorily cleanse the hippocampic walls." He paused
for a moment to take a breath before raising his eyebrows. "Happy you asked?"

"I didn't ask. Now in English this time?"

The Doctor couldn't quite figure out why she was so angry with him, so he just gave a
surrendering sigh and explained. "I got the physical elements of the drug out of my system
earlier, but the side effects have to wear off on their own. Sometimes the particles get stuck or
stubborn and they physically need to be dislodged to get them cleared. Your slap started it
and made me aware of the extra buildup. That's why I needed the second slap. But I'm good
now. At least," He sniffed thoughtfully before flicking his right temple. "I should be."

"Okay. Just – stop." Rose said, a bit more calmly, as she stepped forward and took hold of the
Doctor's hands to keep him from causing further injury to himself. Her hold was gentle and
incredibly grounding. Suddenly, the Doctor saw that she wasn't angry with him. She was
worried.

Without thinking about it, the Doctor raised her hands and placed his lips gently, lovingly, to
each knuckle in an apologetic kiss. It was a bit more lovey-dovey, mushy-gushy that his usual
style, but for some reason it seemed to fit perfectly in the moment. "I'm sorry I scared you."
He whispered honestly.

He could feel the tension release from Rose's body. She leaned forward into him, resting her
head on his chest, his double heartbeat pounding comfortingly against her ear. "I don't like
you on these drugs." She whispered back.

"I don't like being on them either."

"No, I don't like you on them. I don't like how you act – all submissive and…and…slavelike.
Yesterday I counted five times you called Jancon 'Master' and no one was even around. And I
know it's not your fault!" She added quickly, pulling away enough so he could see the
sincerity in her eyes. "I just don't like you thinking you're worthless, cause you're not. Not to
me, at least."

The Doctor held her closer to him, planting another kiss on top of her blonde head. "I know.
I'm sorry."

They stood like that for a moment longer before the Doctor regretfully pulled away. "I should
check on the formula."

"Right. Yes."

The flask had cooled down enough to touch by now, but the Doctor still used the protective
tongs to lift it up and carry it to a set of microscopes along another lab table. Using an
eyedropper he placed a drop of the green stuff on a slide and slipped it beneath the lens,
leaning in to observe. Rose wrapped her arms tighter around her own chest after jumping
onto one of the bare tabletops across from the silent Time Lord. He still placed his entire
body weight on his right leg, leaning into the table on his elbow as he peered through the
glass. But at least now he looked a bit more relaxed. Somehow, even as he had been lying
across the table earlier, his body had been noticeably tense, the muscles in his back and
shoulders coiled as if ready to pounce or run.

It was a comfortable silence they shared as the Doctor continued to study his concoction.
Rose picked up a steady drumming beat with her heels against the side of the table, quiet
enough so as not to disturb the busy Time Lord. A few minutes passed before the Doctor
moved again, silently hopping on his one good leg over to a device that looked remarkably
like a Bunsen Burner from Earth. As Rose watched, intrigued and curious, the Doctor raised
the microscope pad and lens up about half a foot and slide the burner underneath, fire heating
the metal plate beneath the slide. Rose was sure that wasn't good for the microscope, which
looked expensive, but the Doctor didn't even bat an eyelash to the fact that he might be
destroying one of his 'Master's' possessions.

The Doctor turned off the flame and stared so hard though the lens, Rose was sure he was
about to burn a hole through that side as well. More silence, and then…

"Oh…" The Doctor said quietly, and Rose's heart sank a little bit. Something went wrong.
The formula wasn't right and the Doctor would be forced to go through even more pain to get
the virus ready within the week they had. She felt her head hang down against her chest. Here
they go again. "You…are….beautiful!" The Time Lord breathed excitedly into the
microscope.

That had Rose taken aback. "Did you just call a virus that's about to kill a bunch of innocent
slaves 'beautiful'?" She asked, disbelief etched into her voice.

"No…" Replied the Doctor without taking his eyes away from the lenses. "I called
the antivirus that's about the save a bunch of innocent slaves 'beautiful'."

Rose perked up instantly, jumping off the desk in one fluid motion and coming up to stand
beside him. The Doctor took the cue and shuffled out of the way so Rose could see in through
the lens. Squinting, Rose could just make out the image. It looked absolutely…not
extraordinary. Like a pool of green liquid.

"Okay…what am I looking at?"

"Well, nothing now. But – " The image in the lens instantly vanished and Rose looked up in
time to see the Doctor move that slide over to the side and slip another one in. The burner had
been turned off, but stayed beneath the pad. "Take a look again."

Rose obeyed, narrowing her eyes to the lens once more. This time she could actually see
what she assumed were the tiny molecules dancing around their little pool on the slide. Okay,
so at least there was something to look at now. She still had no idea what it meant, or how it
could ever be classified as 'beautiful'.
"You see how there are two different shapes in the molecules?" The Doctor's voice appeared
in her ear, as if he had read her under-whelmed thoughts. And yes, she could kind of see how
some were uniformly bigger than others. And maybe if she squinted a bit more she could
make out an extra point on the smaller ones.

"Yeah. Why's that?"

"That's because they literally are two different molecules. The rabies virus, and the antivirus."

Rose's eyes snapped back to the Doctor. "Seriously? Is that even possible? Wouldn't they
cancel each other out?"

"Nope. We have two completely different molecules co-existing inside a neutral solution that
keeps the molecules separate but still sustains the proper environment to keep the virus's
alive." He flashed her one of his now rare genuine smiles. "Yep, I'm that good."

Rose bit her lip. "Okay, I didn't get very high marks in my science classes, true, but
something tells me that's not usually how this is supposed to work."

"It's not. It's completely ridiculous, at least that's what the rational side of my brain told the
weird side when it first came up with the idea. Right up there with banana-skin shoes, totally
bonkers. BUT, the more I thought about it the more it actually started to make sense. Master
is only going to allow one injection – the tracker pad – and I couldn't have two different
capsules on it, or find a way to ensure another injection."

"You mean Jancon." Rose corrected instantly.

"What?"

"You said 'Master' but you meant Jancon, yeah?"

The Doctor just stared at her for a moment before crinkling his nose. "Oh, yes, course I meant
that. Sorry. But anyway, I knew I had to get an antivirus on there somehow. Maybe I could
make a dual-chambered capsule? But no, that would end up being too large for the tracker
pad if I included enough of both virus and antivirus, or too small for either one to be at all
effective if I kept the capsule it's normal size. Maybe I could soak the tracker pad in the
antivirus so it gets in the system before the virus would be activated? No again. Then the
virus would have no effect, and I know Master is going to try it out to make sure I did it right
before he puts it into use."

"Jancon." Rose corrected again, an edge of worry in her voice.

"Yes, that, thank you." The Doctor amended distractedly. "Really, I am trying to stop. But
anyway! I realized that the only way it would work would be to combine both virus and
antivirus in the same chamber so we wouldn't have to waste room including the extra
protective fluid each virus needed. But then the problem arose that I still needed protective
fluid for both of them, regardless. So the real trial came in figuring out how to
make that work.
"You see, the truth is," The Doctor continued, bringing his voice back down from the excited
level it had been to something a little more somber and serious. "I could've had the virus
formula done in…oh, I don't know? Two hours? Three hours, tops. Really, what Master –"

"Jancon."

"– asked was a piece of cake. My final exam at the Academy was more difficult. But it was
that bloody fluid that took me so long to figure out. But – " The Doctor suddenly froze and
looked seriously at Rose before intentionally emphasizing, "Jancon – insisted I hurry things
along, so I gave it the old Gallifrey try, and, as usual, it just happened to work. I managed to
design a formula with both the environmental requirements of both viruses and a system that
would ensure the virus is released first, followed by the antivirus before any fatal side effects
can happen."

"That's the loophole"

"Yep-o!" The Doctor really was getting excited again. It had been so long since he'd had
something to really, truly be excited about. He'd almost forgotten how much he likes the
feeling. "You see…Jancon…only said he wanted me to make him a virus. He never gave me
explicit instructions not to make anything else. So long as the virus works, there's really no
need for him to know about the antivirus until it's too late."

"But you said something about Jancon probably wanting to test the injection beforehand."
Rose crossed her arms again as she leaned backwards against the counter, trying to keep up
with the Doctor's explanations. "So even if you have found a way to get both the virus and
antivirus on there undetected, he'll eventually discover the antivirus when the tests
miraculously come back unaffected, right?"

At this the Doctor made a pained face. "Yes…I've thought about that. And I'm also almost
positive the tests will be done on living subjects, too, so that really doesn't make this any
easier. But the only way I could think to get around it is to have a manual override of the
tracker pad. Sort of like the remote Jancon will have to activate the virus. It will be able to
target specific capsules so Master can choose who to trigger and when so people won't get
too suspicious of all the other competitors randomly dropping dead."

Holding onto the side of the table again, the Doctor hobbled around to a set of cabinets and
twisted it open. The metal sang with lack of use as a draw was pulled out. From it the Doctor
grabbed what looked like a typical small remote, like the ones people leave in their cars to
open the garage, a large microchip with what looked like a small pocket protruding from the
bottom, and a one and a half inch by one and a half inch metal plate with a hump coming out
of its center. Rose helped him by taking hold of the devices and setting them on his work
table as he hopped back around the lab. His left knee wasn't looking much better.

"So what are these things?" Rose asked curiously. "I'm guessing this is the remote you're
giving to Jancon?" She held up the small remote, holding it gingerly between her thump and
forefinger as if it had been drenched in Slitheen vomit.

"Yep. That remote will control this –" The Doctor pointed to the large microchip. "and trigger
the heating pad I'm going to install beneath the capsule. That's the trick, you see. The virus's
molecules burn at a lower temperature than the antivirus, so by heating the pad up it will send
the heat into the capsule above and, because of the design of the capsule walls, the fumes of
the virus will be able to seep through them. Then this guy –" This time he indicated the
square piece of metal with the hump. "when turned on, will target the active pad with the
highest heat signature and turn up the heat, all the way until the antivirus is able to seep out
as well. Pretty simple, eh?"

Rose frowned. Yes, it was simple. But she could still see a major flaw.

"But how are you going to activate it?" She pointed at the bump. "I'm assuming that's some
sort of button you have to press? But aren't you not allowed to bring anything into the Trial
with you?"

Again, the Doctor made an unpleasant face. "Yeah, that's why I have to implant it somewhere
in my body."

Rose blanched. She had not been expecting that answer. The metal plate was quite a bit larger
and thicker than the tracker pad they were going to inject. She didn't think a regular tagging
gun would be able to fit it. How was he going to get it in?

She ended up asking him just that and, to her absolute horror, watched as the Doctor hobbled
over to another draw and pulled out a horrible sharp scalpel. He inspected the blade for a
moment before lowering it, testingly, to his left arm, a few inches below the crook of his
elbow. Rose noticed for the first time that there was a little mark there, drawn in with pen,
right where the Doctor was apparently planning on slicing himself.

"Well, unfortunately," The Doctor eventually responded. "There's really no two ways about it.
I'm just going to have to cut myself open, place it beneath the skin close enough to the
surface so I can reach the button, but not close enough for it to accidentally go off at any
touch, and really, really hope I don't knick any veins and cause any massive internal
bleeding." He looked up at Rose with eyes that looked like they were just as unconvinced of
the sanity of this plan as she was. He picked up the metal plate one more time and measured
it against his arm. Suddenly it looked about ten times larger than before.

"Piece of cake, yeah?"

 Chapter 37

By some small mercy, the Doctor managed to not make a single sound to give away how
much pain he was really in. True, he had been through worse just in the last seven days – no,
wait, make that five days, he forgot about that one incident when he accidentally said Jancon
instead of Master – but there really was no feeling that could compare to a shining, sharp
blade slicing through your own sensitive skin and muscle tissue.

The incision was only about two inches square, set into the delicate skin on the inside of his
left arm. He had tried to make it himself, but with no anesthesia or drugs to help numb the
pain, his fingers began to shake no long after the first slit, making it increasingly difficult to
make the precise cuts he needed. Too shallow and the trigger would cause the skin to bulge,
making it too obvious. Too deep and the Doctor wouldn't be able to even reach the trigger,
not to mention the metal plating on the chip could get too close to the more important veins
and nerves set deep in the arm and cause unknowable damage. If the cuts were too jagged he
could accidentally nick an artery or vein, causing internal bleeding, or the chip might not be
able to fit if the lines cut in too close.

It was a far finer art then Rose had expected, still thinking the Doctor was insane as he turned
to her, holding the bleeding scalpel in the palm of his hand, and asked her to finish it for him.
She could see his pain in the way his fingers shook, but he didn't tell her that was the reason
he needed her help, only announcing he that couldn't reach his own arm from that angle.

She let him have that one. They weren't allowing him to keep much dignity here, so even
though she had only just been scolding him for lying, she let this one slide. Besides, deep
down Rose always knew the Doctor lies. It's in his natural. She had just hoped he wouldn't
still be lying to her. After all they'd been through.

The chip was planted and the final stitch was being done. The Doctor made a face as the
thread pulled annoyingly on his skin as Rose tightened the stitch, tying it off with shaking
fingers. "Sorry…" She muttered as she caught sight of his locked jaw and squinted eyes.

"S'okay. Just – be gentle."

"I thought I was being gentle."

"Well, then, be gentler." The Doctor hissed slightly as Rose twisted the thread around to
finish off the last knot.

Using a pair of scissors, Rose cut the final thread and put the tools back on the counter.
"There you go, you big baby." Her playful tone earned her a small laugh from the Time Lord,
who twisted his arm around to see the results of their disobedience. Eight stitches now
crisscrossed over the white skin of his lower arm in a neat square, framing the chip. There
was a little raise where the trigger pressed against his skin, sticking out like a spider bite
might. There, but not too noticeable.
The stitches, on the other hand, were very noticeable, and the square they were in far too
exact to be written off as an accidental cut. Orange blood still trickled idly from between the
stitches.

"Beautiful." The Doctor murmured in a voice that said the exact opposite. He flexed his arm
up and down and made a grabbing motion with his hand. The Doctor gave a nod of approval.
Everything seemed to still be working fine – a bit tender and painful, but working.

"How is it?" Rose asked.

"I'll definitely survive." He replied distantly. "The question is…will anyone else?"

With only a little hobble, the Doctor was able to make it over to the counter with the
microscope again. As predicted, the swelling in his knee was already going down and the
main in his leg was negligible compared to that in his arm. Another good night's sleep and he
would be as good as new. Or…at least mobile again.

The slide holding the raw virus/anti-virus mix had been removed from under the microscope
and was replaced with one of the sample chips the Doctor had been given to work with. It sat
inside a Petri dish beneath a layer of orange substance. The Doctor's on blood he'd taken to
act as a test environment. Beside it was a capsule shell holding the mix together. It was still
eerily green and bubbling slightly like a carbonated drink, even inside the tiny container. The
Doctor explained to Rose that the bubbling was actually the anti-virus rebelling against the
chemical separating it from the virus, but it still looked freaky and weird.

"Shell's solidified." The Doctor accounted as he poked the capsule with his finger childishly.
"Let's test this bad boy out."

The Doctor raised his left arm, subconsciously tracing the square of stitches before hovering
his finger over the raised center. Rose winced as she saw the blood still oozing from between
the thread and torn skin. "Isn't that going to hurt? Why didn't you test it out before putting it
in your arm?" She questioned.

The Doctor looked up at her through his heavy eyelids. He was thoroughly exhausted. "Naw,
I would've had to test it subdurmally anyway, and I can only make so many shells with what
I've got right now. Besides, what's a little more pain?"

Rose made a strange sort of huffing noise that the Doctor chose to ignore. With surprisingly
steady fingers, the Time Lord picked up the tiny, delicate capsule and placed it carefully on
the tag, securing it down with minuscule metal arms Rose hadn't even been able to see
before. Now in place, the Doctor activated the tag using the silver remote designed for Jancon
to use. A little light turned on in the top right hand corner or the remote. It had found the chip
and recognized its signature, ready to give the command.

The Doctor pressed a button on the side and a new panel slid down. Rose raised her
eyebrows, impressed. The remote appeared too small and slim at first to hold the hidden
screen it now sported. The symbols ST001 A N110 W407 were lit up on the screen. Using
the main button, the Doctor scrolled much like Rose used to on her old iPod until the
numbers were highlighted. A basic ? appeared beside the numbers and letters. The Doctor
hesitated for a moment and took a deep breath.

"Ready?"

Rose answered back "Are you?"

The Doctor shook his head minutely. "Here goes."

One eye on the screen, one eye on the tag, The Doctor carefully moved his finger back to the
center of the stitches and, biting his lower lip, pressed down.

"Arg!" The Doctor groaned, clutching at his left arm as the word ACTIVATED flashed over
the numbers on the screen.

"What is it?" Rose asked frantically, leaping forward in a desperate need to help him. The
Doctor just shook his head again, wincing as he swung his arm around experimentally. The
pain seemed to have left his eyes, but he was still a bit in shock.

"It's okay." He assured his companion. "I designed the tag in my arm to give off a small
vibration whenever a virus is activated so I'll know when to send an anti-virus. But I guess
the vibration wasn't as small as I was expecting."

"Yeah, and it being inside your arm couldn't have helped much either."

The Doctor gave a small chuckle. "No, it didn't help at all. Too late to change now. What was
it I was saying earlier about more pain?"

"That you don't deserve it." Rose supplied with a meaningful glare.

"That, too. But what's more important is…this." The Doctor swooped down on the
microscope, ending the conversation before Rose could get angry and protective again, and
peered through at the tracker tag. A moment passed before a tiny grin swept across his face.
"Well, that's the virus working." He stepped aside and motioned for Rose to take a look.
Leaning down over the lens, Rose could see fumes hanging over the dish, fogging up the
plastic container a bit, as small black specks formed and attached to the small red blood cells.
The virus was taking over the blood supply. It looked…incredible, she had to admit. As
horrible as it was and as horrible as it was going to be, it was still remarkable that all this was
actually happening right before her eyes.

"The fumes settle and form the virus strains, which affect the blood cells when they come in
contact." The Doctor explained behind her. "In a few minutes the blood will be completely
infected, and the heart will be spreading it throughout the entire blood supply. Once it reaches
the brain, the victim won't even be aware of what they're doing anymore. Animalistic anger
and instinct will take over. Until this happens."

As the Doctor spoke, the fumes of the virus had settled into the blood, leaving it now a
morbid maroon color the Time Lord's blood should never be. But then a new smoke
appeared, lighter this time, and Rose watched as the fumes fused together into white particles
and attacked the blackness taking over the blood. After a minute the blood was already
returning back to normal. Rose gave a small gasp of amazement and before she could stop
herself she breathed out, "You. Are. Incredible."

She straighten up in time to see the Doctor looking rather pleased with himself before
schooling his expression into one of humble acceptance. "Please, it was nothing." He replied
with fake modesty.

"No, seriously." Rose emphasized. "You never stop amazing me."

The Doctor just smiled at her with his 1000 watt grin before pushing her aside playfully so he
could reach the microscope. He peered in for a few seconds before leaning back up, smile
still in place. "I think," He said carefully in a quiet voice. "We might actually get away with
this one…"

Rose couldn't help the excited giggle that escaped her as she clung to his uninjured are,
wrapping her arms around it in a kind of energized hug. But then she stopped, a thought
crossing her mind. "Alright, so we have the tag and virus situation taken care of. But what
about the Trial itself?"

The Doctor glanced down at her with a questioning look. "I mean," Rose continued. "How
are you going to get out of the Trial? Have you thought about that yet?"

The Doctor just frowned. "Rose, I'm not getting out of the Trial."

"What do you mean? Of course you are. You said it's like Hunger Games meets Fugitive,
you're not actually going in there."

Yes, I am." The Doctor replied sorrowfully. "I have to."

Rose just stared at him for a moment before squinting at him. "Do you need another slap in
the face? Because you actually sound serious."

"I am serious. Rose, I can't get out of the Trial. I'm under nearly constant supervision, and if
you haven't noticed, you are, too. Not to mention this thing," The Doctor shook his right leg
with the silver shock anklet. "Will go off if I cross outside it's range."

"Then find a way to deactivate it." Rose quickly countered. "Come on, if you can make a
virus coexist with its own anti-virus the surely you can figure out a way to get that thing off."

The Doctor just shook his head sadly. "Rose, I can't. I have to compete. If I make it out,
Jancon promised he'd set us free and take us back to the TARDIS immediately."

Rose felt her heart beat slow and then quicken, making her feel slightly nauseas as she asked,
"And if you don't make it out…?"

The Doctor looked away before answering. "Then Jancon's word will still honored. He'll set
you free and find you the first ship back to Earth. Or wherever you wish to go."
It took a moment for the words to sink in. So I'm just expected to accept that as a reasonable
answer? Rose thought with a sneer of disbelief. "No." She found herself saying. The Doctor
peered over at her questioningly. "No, that's not going to happen. I'm not just leaving you so I
can go settle on Earth. What do I even have there, anyway?"

The Doctor looked at her worriedly. "What do you even have there? Your home? Your
mother? Your friends?"

"I don't have any of that." She stated as simply as any other fact in the universe as she
practically flew across the lab to where she'd dropped the pieces of paper she'd originally
come in here to talk to him about. "We're getting out of here. Tonight, if we have to,
tomorrow at the latest. I don't want to stick around any longer than necessary, it's doing things
to your head, I can tell. Drugs or no drugs."

She slammed the papers down on the table next to the microscope and jabbed a finger at
them. "This is our way out and were taking it. End of discussion."

The Doctor gave an exasperated sigh. "Rose, I already told you, we can't. It won't work, we're
–"

"'Just slaves', yeah, I heard that part already. Did you hear the part where I'm going to slap
you again if I have to?"

"Loud and clear, but you misunderstood what I meant. I wasn't saying we can't go because
our 'Master' hasn't given us permission, I was saying we'll never make it off planet. It's illegal
to offer passage to slaves without their master accompanying them, not to mention it's illegal
for slaves to hold and exchange money or even enter a port without their master's presence
and permission. And let's say by some miracle we do make it into a town with a ship port and
into the building, they use DNA samples to access bank accounts and pull up ID and records,
and when we were brought on planet our blood would have been taken and categorized as
property of Prebassador Jancon Ligtech. Once they scanned us we would immediately be
detained and sent back to him.

"I love how much work you've put into finding an escape route." The Doctor continued as he
fingered the papers on the table, eyes staring longingly at the information they possessed.
"But we can't risk attempting an escape that is destined to fail, especially when I already have
your freedom guaranteed."

"But not your own." Rose concluded shortly. She was angry again. How had the Doctor
solved this last time? Even though her arms were now crossed, the Doctor pulled her into
another embrace, ignoring the pain in his arm as he held her close. It seemed to work again as
she relaxed almost subconsciously, just like last time, resting her forehead against his
collarbone.

"You forget, Rose Tyler, I'm not as easy to kill as most people think. And I've still got my
regenerations, which they won't know about. I'm not going to leave you, not if I can help it."

Rose took a deep breath and let it out through her nose. Then suddenly she asked, "What time
is it?"
The Doctor was startled by her sudden change of tone, but quickly replied. "About 6:08. Half
an hour into the moon cycle." He added using the planet's own jargon.

Rose cursed with her own and pushed away. "Ilaria's taken to asking me to eat dinner with
her and Jancon. It's really awkward, they're always asking me about Earth and having all
these really intricate questions I have no idea how to answer." Rose grabbed the papers and
shoved them into her pockets. "Like last night Jancon asked me about the status of our solar
system's galactic law and I didn't know how to respond so I just told them the plot of Star
Wars."

The Doctor chuckled at the idea of Rose trying to pawn off The Empire Strikes Back as a
story about Neptune versus Mars. But he quickly stopped as she suddenly pointed harshly at
him from the doorway. "This conversation isn't over, mister. We're getting out of here
whether you like it or not. I'm just really, really late!"

With that she spun out the door and sprinted down the hallway. The Doctor waited until her
footsteps were silenced by distance before crumbling to the floor with an anguished sigh. His
entire left side hated him right then: His left knee still throbbed painfully, his ribs were
bruised from training earlier, and his stitches were still pulling uncomfortable with each
movement of his arm. Not to mention the pounding in his head and the aching in his hearts.
This was all getting to be too much, and now Rose was angry with him, too.

But not only that. That he could handle. An angry Rose could be soothed with a hug, a cup of
tea, and some greasy chips. But a forgetting Rose? He felt it both times he swallowed her in
an embrace that night, resting his cheek against the top of her head. For the briefest of
moments both times he allowed himself to slip into her mind, so shallowly and so carefully
she didn't even notice, but enough to see the chaos and destruction within her.

He had fucked up. The Doctor never liked to use that bit of Earth slang, but there was really
no other word strong enough to explain just how badly he'd messed with her mind. And the
drugs Rose had been given in Eyal had only made it so much, much worse.

Rose was losing her mind. One memory, one thought at a time. She wouldn't be able to tell,
she wouldn't even be able notice it was happening at all. But it was, right in front of their
eyes. In the way her emotions jumped around, how she could go from angry and sad to
energetic and smiling again in the blink of an eye with no real incentive, how she couldn't
even think of a single reason to return to Earth. "I don't have any of that." She had responded
when he mentioned her home, her friends, her mum. Was she forgetting about her
own mother?

She may have just been caught in the moment, the Doctor tried to convince himself. After all,
this wouldn't be the first time she'd said nothing else mattered to her except for him, but each
time it had been more of a 'they take the back seat to you' rather than a 'they don't exist at all'
kind of thing.

Was he overreacting? No, he had seen it himself inside her mind. It was like a black hole had
formed and was sucking in one piece of Rose at a time. The Doctor shuddered violently and
banged his head back against the counter behind him as he forced himself not to think about
what happened when there was nothing left for the vacuum to consume. What would be left
of Rose?

With an unsteady breath, the Doctor pulled himself back to his feet. There was nothing he
could do about it tonight. He needed to clean up the lab and make it spotless before the
guards came to take him back to the slave quarters. He felt useless and without options, but
that was hardly a new feeling anymore. Tomorrow he would wake to another dose of the
drugs and be back to his slave self again.

But for now his arm was still bleeding, and the stitches were far too visible and obvious.

He grabbed a bandage off the table and began wrapping the area, placing a strip of gauze
directly over the wound to protect it until the incisions healed enough to remove the stitches.
Then he set about scrubbing the lab down as he did each night, hiding his redemption in the
form of a chemical away inside a bottom drawer and hoping, despite knowing it was futile,
that his guilt would get locked in there with it as well.
 Chapter 38

The door swished open behind his back, but the Doctor didn't bother raising his eyes from his
newest project.

"Rose, pass me those pliers on the table, will you?"

The Doctor jerked his head behind him and slightly to the right towards a tray of tools on the
counter. His bangs, still damp from his shower, were flung off to the side from the movement
and stuck to his forehead. Agitated with their persistent tickle, the Doctor used his free hand
to rake his fingers through his hair, making every strand stand up in its usual gravity defying
way. He really was in need of another haircut.

His other hand expertly twisted two wires around themselves into an intricate knot. His
fingers dipped and coiled and pulled until it was almost perfect, he just needed those pliers to
tighten it up and bend them down into the perfect shape.

And then the Doctor paused. His eyes remained on the wire as he shouted over his shoulder.
"No, wait! Rose, I lied. Don't need the pliers. Don't need anything actually, why don't you
come back in – oh, let's say twenty minutes? How's that sound?"

"Ahem."

Okay…that was not Rose's voice. The Doctor spun around so fast he nearly tripped over
himself. Standing in the doorway was definitely not Rose. Her skin was a pale purple, like
lavenders, with dark black hair hanging almost to her waist. She looked hesitant as she stood
there, one arm crossed over her front as she held a pile of black fabric against her chest.

"John, right?"

"Er – yeah, hello." The girl was vaguely familiar, but it was often hard to remember someone
when the color of their skin kept changing. "Chirla, right?"

The Doctor's stab in the dark seemed to pay off as the girl smiled widely. "That's right. We've
never actually met, but your mate tells me about you almost constantly." The Doctor fought
hard to keep a blush from rising in his cheeks. Especially when he noticed her trying – and
failing – to casually look around him at the table. Surely she must have heard rumors, or even
truths, from the rest of the staff about what Jancon had his slave doing down here at all hours
of the day. The Doctor just furtively leaned to the side to block her view. He didn't know how
loyal this girl was to Jancon, and he didn't want her seeing that he wasn't working on what he
should. Consequences following, and all.

"Right…what can I do for you, Chirla?" He asked, trying to steer her attention away from the
mess of wires and stones on the table.

Chirla seemed to snap out of her curiosity and moved her arms as if to show off the black
bundle she held. "Mrs. Sihn asked me to bring these to you and order that you quickly drink
and change, and then head up to the kitchens. Your assistance is needed."

The Doctor frowned. "My assistance?" What could they possibly need him for when, for all
they knew, he was supposed to be busily working on the virus.

"The Prebassador and his wife are throwing a small gathering and you are expected to serve."

This only caused the Doctor to blanch. "A – a server? But…I wasn't bought for that."

The girl frowned slightly. "You're a slave. You were bought to do what your master tells you
to." She didn't say it unkindly, but the words still stung, causing the Doctor's breath to hitch
as he was so brutally reminded of his position once again.

Chirla set the bundle on the table nearest the door. She didn't seem to want to come in. By
now the Doctor could tell it was a pair of nice black trousers, an expensive black shirt which
he could tell would be too small even from far away, and a single small bottle of clear liquid
that made the Doctor's mouth go dry.

"I've been instructed to wait until you finish the drink before leaving." Chirla said as if
reading the Doctor's thoughts about dumping it down the drain.

"Do I have to?" The Doctor groaned rather childishly as he stepped forward, picking up the
bottle as if it were about to explode.

Chirla gave him a sympathetic frown. "Mrs. Sihn said something about being on your best
behavior. If you didn't want to take it, you shouldn't have been a bad slave."

The Doctor barely repressed his glare. The girl seemed nice at first, and apparently had
already befriended Rose, but the Doctor decided in that moment that he really didn't like the
servant very much at all. He lowered his eyes but not his glare, not wanting to give her
another attribute of being a bad slave to comment on, as he raised the bottle. "Cheers." He
muttered before tipping it back, cringing as the substance slid down the back of his throat.

The effects were not instantaneous, but they would be upon him soon.

The girl seemed to breathe a sigh of relief. What, did she think he was going to attack her or
something? She nodded towards the pile of clothes. "Get dressed and clean up, you're
expected up in the kitchens already."

With that she left. Confusion flitted across his mind. The Doctor had only been in the lab for
an hour and a half. They never pulled him out early. As far as habit had proven, he should be
stuck in here for at least another three hours. But none-the-less, he immediately got to work
cleaning up his work station.

The necklace was almost done. The rare stones Ammacus managed to procure for him the
last time he was allowed out to market glittered against the black top of the table, ready to be
put in place. They shined like their own individual stars. Surprisingly they were exceedingly
inexpensive at the market, mostly because this planet didn't understand just how rare they
really were since they didn't know how to use the stones and the planet was simply speckled
with them. The only planet in eight galaxies.

Many of the Memory Stones – or Whisper-Wells as some systems called them – were already
infused with his thoughts and memories, thoughts and memories he wanted to share with
Rose…just in case. Everything he's thought and never voiced, felt but never acted on,
memories that made his hearts hurt with the amount of happiness they brought him. The ninth
incarnation still inside him rolled his eyes at how overly sentimental he was being, but if this
was his last chance to say it, he wasn't going to be cut off by circumstance.

The only thing left to share were instructions. One of the stones would have instructions
telling Rose how to fly the TARDIS back to Earth, another would have instructions telling
the TARDIS to ignore anything Rose says or does and take her back to Earth anyway. She
would argue and fight it, he knew, trying to do something stupid like go back in their own
timeline and stop this from ever happening, and he couldn't allow it.

Not only because it's wrong to go back in your own timeline…but, despite everything that's
happened to them, the Doctor has never felt closer to his little yellow and pink human.
Sometimes horrible situations produce beautiful things. At least he has to make himself think
that. He has to believe in silver linings. He can't afford not to. And he can't afford to do
anything else.

The lab was finally clean and spotless as usual, the necklace and its intricate little bits swept
carefully into a drawer along with the tools to go with it. The Doctor ran is hand through his
hair one more time, this time smoothing it into something a little more appropriate than the
hedgehog look. Nothing ever interrupted the new routine. Not since Jancon made it perfectly
clear what he expects of the Doctor. And since the Time Lord had conveniently forgotten to
tell his lord and master that the virus (and antivirus) were complete, there was no reason for
the routine to change. This exception, admittedly, made him nervous.

He quickly changed into the clothes left for him, making sure his shirt was tucked in and
wrinkle-free and his hair was in a manageable style. He splashed some water on his face to
liven it up and ease the worry-wrinkles forming along his forehead. He wasn't trained in this.
Sure, Bachir had him serving the trainer during his time in Eyal, but that had been relatively
informal and only for one person. How many guest would Jancon have? Would he be serving
food or cocktails. Or…or something else?

The Doctor stared up at himself in the mirror. Now he could feel it. The usual terror of being
a slave was eating at him from the inside. Normally he was able to push it aside, but with the
drugs running fresh through his system he could not. He was scared of screwing up. He was
scared of being a bad slave.

Too much time had already passed. The Doctor tore himself away from the pitiful creature in
the mirror and trudged out of the lab.

The guard stationed outside the side door gave him a quick nod before marching beside him
towards the estate. Had the Doctor been "sober" he would have had to suppress the desire to
roll his eyes and make some sarcastic comment about the guard's dutiful seriousness. They
act as if the Doctor were a high-security prisoner…but now that he thinks about it that sounds
about right. Maybe after watching all his training exercises through that poorly concealed
camera in the gym, Jancon finally realized just how dangerous the Doctor can be.

He didn't feel dangerous right now. He just felt vulnerable.

Rose couldn't understand it.

The blue dress a servant had brought to her room earlier that evening was easily the fanciest
and most expensive dress she had ever dared to dream about wearing. But now she had it on,
corset cutting off her air supply and everything, feeling like an out-of-place fairytale princess.
But she couldn't be the princess. That title was saved for Ilaria, who was dressed not to the
nines but to the nine hundreds in a gown of violet lace that matched perfectly with the purple
streaks in her hair. If they had been on Earth, those streaks would look trashy, something a
rebellious teenage girl would do to annoy her parents, but somehow the woman managed to
make them look high fashion and perfectly classy.

Everyone else was dressed beautifully as well. Dignitaries from nearby planets and other
friends of the Prebassador's family were gathered in the dinning hall, awaiting the servants to
appear with their first course, exchanging stories and jokes and laughter Rose tried to join in
with.

What Rose couldn't understand, though, was why she was there. Even though Ilaria and
Jancon hardly treated her like the slave they bought, she had hardly expected to be attending
dinner parties as a guest alongside the beautiful and famous and rich. If anything she
expected to be serving.

But no, Rose was reminded with what felt like a punch to the stomach as she looked down
under the table. They already had someone filling that position. Her eyes fell sadly on the
sight of the Doctor kneeling, head down, eyes pinned to the floor, beside Ilaria's chair at the
head of the table. He was drugged again, she could tell by the defeated set of his shoulders
and the way he refused to lift his eyes to her, or anyone else.

He had been in there when everyone else walked in, standing dutifully against the wall
behind Ilaria's chair with his hands clasped respectfully behind his back. Rose wanted to run
up to him, demand why he was there, throw her arms around him just to wipe that blank look
of detachment from his face, but knew that would only bring the Time Lord more trouble. So
instead she sat in her assigned seat and watched with worried eyes as the Doctor stepped
away from the wall, gave Ilaria a small bow of respect, and pulled the chair out for her. Once
she and everyone else were in their seats as well, the Doctor slid like liquid to his knees
beside her, where he had stayed ever since.

Rose didn't like it. His silence and complete lack of movement. It was even more distracting
that his usual boundless, talkative energy, and she found herself unable to follow the
conversations going on around her. It took every ounce of concentration she possessed not to
openly stare at the Time Lord the whole dinner. She recognized the position he was kneeling
in. It was theposition, and it still sent a shiver down her spine. Would she ever get over what
happened at Eyal? She could hardly even remember anything before going to that place.
Actually…Rose frowned. Was there a before? Surely there had to have been, she had
memories of it. But they felt wrong. Distant. Like they belonged to someone else.

She would have to talk to the Doctor about that later. When he wasn't busy acting like a piece
of furniture.

Rose started back to reality as a plate of strange green leafs and purple chunks was placed in
front of her. She quickly recognized it as the Aonian equivalent of a salad. She turned to the
servant who delivered it and smiled. "Thanks."

The servant's look of shock and surprise was shared with her neighbor to the right, who
stared at Rose as if she'd just tried to hold a conversation with a tree. She dropped her eyes to
her lap, instantly self-conscious, but a tiny exhaled laugh caught her attention. She glanced
down and saw the Doctor smiling slightly even as he kept his eyes on the ground, head
shaking ever so slightly as he laughed inwardly at her. Rose would have playfully kicked him
into silence had he not been on the other side of the table. And if his brilliant but drugged
mind wouldn't interpret it as punished for being insolent and disrespectful towards a 'free
woman'.

That thought brought reality back to her once more. Everyone else was already eating,
delicately stabbing at the greenery on their plates as they spoke.

"It's a shame Jancon couldn't join us." One man – Rose thought he might be a senator of
some kind, or another person in government – was saying to Ilaria. The Doctor tensed at the
mention of his name, but Ilaria didn't seem to notice.

"Yes, it is rather unfortunate." Ilaria responded as she took another sip of her purple wine.
Rose didn't miss the fact that everyone but her at the table had been served wine. Again, she
wondered what she was doing here? Was her presence just another way to humiliate the
Doctor? Or would it turn into a way to humiliate the human herself? "His father has been ill
for quite some time now, and we fear tonight may be his last."

Rose didn't think Ilaria sounded too upset about it. And seriously, what was she doing hosting
a dinner party when her father-in-law was on his deathbed. How did that make any moral
sense?

Everyone else was much better at acting sympathetic. "It is a shame." The woman to her
right, who had given Rose the weird look for thanking a servant, said with a shake of her
head. "The Bassador was a great man."

"Although – not wishing to speak ill of the ill – a few of his past edicts could do with some
revising." Another man with vibrantly bright white hair added with a meaningful look. "In
my opinion, some of his regulations on the Being Trade and Service industry were a bit
harsh."

"Harsh, but necessary." Rose now wanted to tune out the conversation. She had no idea what
the Being Trade and Service industry was and what Jancon's dad's regulations had been, but
she really, honestly didn't care. Why was she even there? "The Industry was dealing Crayans
and Lycannots under the table for years before Bassador Ligtech stepped in."
And now Rose understood. The Being Trade and Service industry must be the slave market
on Shelwick. She recognized those two species as among those illegal to enslave on the
planet, along with humans. Rose retained a laugh. I guess even with the 'Bassador's'
regulations there's still under the table trading, she thought humorlessly.

"Miss Rose, what about you?"

Rose jerked her head up, clearly not expecting to be drawn into the conversation. It must
have been obvious she hadn't been paying attention, because the woman quickly restated,
"Have you felt any hostility or aggression being a human here?"

Rose glanced at Ilaria and then down at the Doctor, wondering how she should respond.
Neither of them helped her. Ilaria just leaned forward, acting genuinely interested in her
answer, while the Doctor continued to stare resolutely at the floor as if he couldn't hear any of
the conversation going on. "Umm…" Rose started dumbly. She didn't want to say 'yes'
because that would be rude to Ilaria and who knew who she'd take that out one – maybe on
the poor guy kneeling at her feet – but saying 'no' wasn't true either. Perhaps it wasn't hostility
or aggression, but it was definitely discrimination within the estate.

So Rose just answered, "You know, I haven't really had a chance to get off the grounds here,
so I can't really tell."

The answer seemed to satisfy everyone enough. "That's a shame." A man across the table
whose hungry gaze Rose did not appreciate said. "You should get out and see the country,
Shelwick is a beautiful planet. I wouldn't mind taking you for a tour…"

Rose just smiled her gratitude, not trusting her rebellious 21st century attitude not to come
out and tell the guy he'd better start looking at her a foot higher up than he was or she'd gouge
his eyes out for him. Instead she took her last bite of salad and used it as her excuse for
silence.

A few minutes later the servants returned and took their salad plates, replacing them with a
bowl of thick, enticing smelling soup. It was creamy and steaming and Rose couldn't help but
smile at how good it smelled.

Her smile instantly vanished when she saw how the Doctor shifted. His eyes, as ever,
wouldn't leave the ground, but his discomfort was clear. He had been kneeling on the hard
wood floor for what must have been twenty minutes now, so there was no way his knees
weren't feeling the pain yet. He tried to shift discretely, so no one would notice, placing
weight on one knee at a time, but Rose knew from experience it wouldn't be enough. His
knees were going to be sore and bruised for quite a while after this.

Not only was she wondering what she was doing here, but what was he doing here? So far
nothing. But soon Rose's question was answered as Ilaria took the last sip from her glass of
wine. As if some kind of silent trigger went off, the Doctor raised himself swiftly to his feet,
obviously attempted to ignore the pain in his lower legs, and quickly refilled the woman's
glass from a pitcher she hadn't even seen him produce. No one else took any notice to him
save Rose, who realized she was staring. It wasn't all that surprising, really. She had been
trained to be a server as well, once. But watching him in action as if it were the most natural
thing in the universe honestly made her feel a little sick.

And then at the last second, as the glass was almost completely full again with the purple
stuff, the Doctor raised his eyes for the first time and stared directly into Rose's. The
connection only lasted a fraction of a second, but Rose felt her heart stop. She knew that look
in his eyes, and he had the audacity to ask her with them if she was okay.

Rose tried to nod, but the Doctor was already sinking back to his knees. She tried to catch his
eye under the table, but once again they wouldn't rise. Rose was about to return to her slowly
cooling soup when suddenly she saw Ilaria's hand reach down towards the Doctor. The Time
Lord flinched as her fingers came in contact with his scalp as if expecting to be hit (of course
he was expecting to be hit, he'd raised his eyes, he dared to look a 'free woman' in the face)
but instead Ilaria laced them through his hair, stroking the top of his head like you would a
dog.

The man sitting next to her chuckled as he looked down at the kneeling slave. "Jumpy one,
isn't he."

Ilaria smiled fondly. "Yes, you will have to excuse our John, he's new to the family. His
training is still in progress."

The woman beside Rose raised her eyebrows. "Buying untrained now, are we Ilaria? I did not
think that was your style."

Ilaria crinkled her nose slightly in a way that still made her look dignified. "No, not at all. I
prefer my slaves knowledgeable and ready to serve by the time I purchase them. John here is
actually my dear husband's."

"Ahh," Came an understanding sigh from the hungry-eyed man, whose attention was finally
off Rose. "I can see Jancon desiring to prove his worth and fend off the dregs of boredom by
becoming a trainer." He chuckled lightly. "The poor thing," He said with no sign of sympathy
at all. "No wonder he jumps at contact. I can only imagine, judging from the way
Jancon 'trains' his rivals at court, how he would train a wild slave."

Rose had to move her hands below the table to hide the white-knuckled fists she'd formed.
There was no point trying to eat her soup now. Not only was she sure she wouldn't be able to
keep it down, but the spoon would be shaking so hard there wouldn't be anything left on it by
the time it reached her mouth.

"My husband and I once took on an unruly and tried to train it ourselves as well." Said the
woman beside her as if she were talking about training a new puppy. "It's hard work, but the
work pays off tremendously. It'll start to dote upon you in no time….actually, I can see it's
already happening." She hid a small giggle as her eyes fell beneath the table.

Rose's stomach churned as she followed her gaze to the Doctor. His eyes had slid closed and
he was actually leaning into Ilaria's touch. Rose felt her cheeks burn. Why was he doing that?
What was the point? Why was he acting like some pet craving his owners touch and
approval? The drugs couldn't be that strong. He couldn't have already fallen that low.
"He's a true prize, my friends." Ilaria was saying as she gazed down on the slave. "My dear
husband has a completely different purpose for him in mind, but would he not make the most
perfect pet?"

Everyone made noises of agreement. "He is beautiful." One said, while another offered
"Congratulations." Rose didn't notice who was speaking. She was, instead, glaring at the
napkin in her lap, refusing to look up at the guests, refusing to look down at her Doctor,
knowing she wouldn't be able to eat a single bite more of what she was sure was going to be
the longest dinner of her life.

It was growing late and the Doctor was exhausted. His knees trembled slightly as he fought
to keep standing. The hardwood floor had destroyed his legs, leaving them bruised and sore
from the two hours of kneeling beside Ilaria's chair. He could still feel the drug muddling his
mind but he didn't dare excrete any of it, terrified someone would notice. Besides, he was
grateful. His master – or rather his master's wife – desired he be on his best behavior and
helped him avoid doing anything that would result in punishment by taking away that ability
to disobey. He was happy for it and strove to ensure their gift wasn't for nothing.

Except for that one slip-up.

He felt himself 'slip-up' again as he let his eyes wander over to Rose again. She was sitting
stock still, back ramrod straight, in one of the comfortable looking couches in the lounge.
Most of the other guests had left, the last one being shown out by Ilaria at that very moment,
leaving only Rose and the Doctor alone in the room. That should be a good thing…right?

Rose was staring at him. He could feel her gaze, but he hadn't been told he could stand at
ease and therefore couldn't return it, couldn't turn to her, couldn't ask why there were bleeding
fingernail-shaped marks on the palms of her hands or why she hadn't eaten anything at
dinner. He was worried, naturally, but there was nothing he could do but stand there where
Ilaria had instructed him to.

The dinner had not been as bad as he had expected. To be honest, he'd been expecting to
serve his master personally, but for some reason Master hadn't been there. He was hardly
upset about that. Master never exactly gave him a reason to feel safe, always angry with him,
threatening, punishing. Nothing like Ilaria. Nothing as reassuring as Ilaria's fingers stroking
through his hair, letting him know he had been a good boy.

Why couldn't Master be like that? He only wanted Master's approval, anyway, why couldn't
he receive it? He was doing exactly what Master wanted. He made the virus – let's not
mention whatelse I made though… - he was competing in the Trials, he wasn't trying to
escape. What more did the man want?

Ilaria came back into the room, a laugh still on her lips from her last farewell as she plopped
down onto a lounge chair. She was far more relaxed then Rose was, who wasn't even leaning
back into the cushions. The Doctor couldn't understand why. The couch looked so
comfortable. Much more comfortable than where he was standing in the corner of the room
closest to Ilaria's chair, head bowed and arms folded behind his back as usual. What he
wouldn't give for a single cushion to sit on, or his bed to collapse into. It had been a long,
stressful day, what with training and then this. All he wanted to do was go to sleep.

"Hosting is exhausting." Ilaria suddenly spoke up and the Doctor jerked back to attention.
The woman sat up for a moment and let her eyes land on the Doctor. He tried not to move
under her gaze, but her white eyes stayed on him much longer than usual, as if she was
considering something. "Do you have songs on Gallifrey, Time Lord?"

The question startled the Doctor. He cleared his throat momentarily before answering, voice a
bit rough from not being used all night and from lack of water. Rassilon, he was thirsty.

"Yes, ma'am, we do." Was all he answered. He couldn't tell why she would ask that question.
Of course they had songs. Every culture had songs.

Ilaria turned over on the couch, curling around a cushion and closing her eyes. "Sing me a
lullaby from your planet, John."

The Doctor felt his hearts constrict. It was one thing to acknowledge that there were songs
from Gallifrey, but to sing them…The Doctor hadn't allowed himself to sing any song of his
people since that day, not since the war destroyed everything. Not since he destroyed
everything. He had no right to sing their songs, to relive the joyous notes and melodies of the
people he basically committed genocide to. His own people. His own songs.

But he had been ordered to by his mistress, so he cleared his throat, taking a deep, settling
breath. He was about to start a song his mother used to sing to him at night, when the
nightmares took hold and refused to release his troubled mind, but he couldn't. The notes
stuck in his throat and suddenly he felt like he was choking. He gasped quietly, barely feeling
any air reaching his lungs.

"John." Ilaria said expectantly. The Doctor couldn't hesitate any longer. He had to sing. So he
did the only thing he could think settle the swell of guilt and nausea rising within him.

He raised his eyes and let them land on the sight of Rose. His Rose, sitting there and staring
at him with the most beautiful and tragic mixture of curiosity and compassion painted across
her face. He had never sung for her before. There were so many times he wanted to, so many
times he should have. To the ancient Gallifreyans, songs held so much more meaning than
just notes and sounds, and he had never shared that with Rose. Had never allowed himself to.

Until now. He didn't let his eyes leave her as he opened his mouth for a second try, and this
time, the song came out.

He could see Rose's position shift so instantly from one of worry to one of utter surprise. She
had never heard the Doctor sing before. It was…unexplainable. The sound coming from the
Time Lord was indescribable. She had never heard anything like it in all her life. It
was beautiful.

Ilaria also spun around, fixing the Doctor with a look of complete and satisfied shock that he
chose to ignore. If he paid any attention to the other woman in the room the song would stop.
The words would get trapped inside his lungs, the notes jamming in his throat again until he
gagged and coughed over them.

But it hurt. It hurt like nothing he'd ever felt at the hands of Master or Bachir. A deep seeded,
ever-present pain that came bubbling up with each memory the lullaby possessed. His
childhood home, the nursery and his old bed, his mother's arms wrapped around him like a
force field, protecting him from the shadows as her voice fought off the demons lurking
within them.

He didn't even notice the song was coming to an end until the last note escaped him, hanging
heavily in the air as if wishing to remain there forever. Only then did he noticed the wetness
on his cheeks. For the first time since starting the song, the Doctor's eyes fell from Rose,
landing once again on the floor as one hand reached up to wipe away the tears.

"Doctor…" Rose barely whispered in both concern and awe, and the Doctor didn't even have
the energy to worry about the fact that she'd just called him that in front of Ilaria. "That…that
was beautiful."

"Thank you, Miss Rose." He still didn't look up.

"Why are you crying?" Came Ilaria's voice, sounding much closer than it would have if she'd
still been lying down. The Doctor glanced up enough to see she was now sitting up, much
closer to him than he wished for in that moment. "That was beautiful, what do you have to
cry about?"

"Nothing, My Lady." The Doctor managed to force out. "The song just means much to me."
Was as far as he was going to go into it.

He heard the swish of her gown as she stood and came to stand right in front of him. The
Doctor made sure his eyes remained on her shoes until he felt a finger beneath his chin,
tilting his head up.

"Look at me, John." The Doctor did as commanded and could see that her own eyes were
swimming as well. "I apologize for making you sing for me. You have the most beautiful
voice, but it pains me to see you hurt like this."

And then suddenly she leaned forward and pressed her soft lips to his. The Doctor was too
surprised to move. He stood frozen in her grasp, his eyes the only thing moving as they
darted over to Rose, who, without even noticing it, was now on her feet.

Ilaria pulled away after a few moments. Thank Rassilon, the Doctor thought until suddenly
she said, "Kiss me back, John. It will make you feel better."

The Doctor highly doubted that, but he could hear the command hidden even behind her
gently voice. She leaned in again, carefully grazing his lips with hers, waiting expectantly for
him to close the rest of the expanse. He didn't want to. He really, really didn't want to.

"Kiss. Me. John." Came the quiet order and he knew he had no other choice. His eyes locked
onto Rose's as he leaned the extra inch forward, kissing his mistress back. The woman
moaned softly as her wish was grated, wrapping her hand around the back of the Doctor's
neck, holding him prisoner there. He couldn't move away without forcefully moving against
her hand. He was stuck.

"So this is the welcome I get coming home from my father's deathbed?"

The Doctor and Ilaria jerked apart as if their contact suddenly burned. And there was Jancon,
standing in the doorway, leaning again the frame with his tie loosened and jacket half off.
The Doctor could smell the alcohol on him and instinctively flinched. The enraged
expression on his Master's face didn't help calm him either.

"M-master…" The Doctor tried to say something, anything in the painful silence that
suddenly fell on the room, but the look his master sent him made him stop mid thought.

"Silence."

The Doctor dropped to his knees at the command, trying to show the man he knew his place
and please, please don't punish me, I'm sorry!

Somewhere the Doctor knew he had nothing to be sorry about. Ilaria had made the move.
Ilaria had ordered him to kiss her back. He had only been following orders. He was just a
simple slave, it wasn't his fault.

But what man in their right mind would blame their beautiful wife when there was a helpless
scapegoat they could beat the crap out of instead? And of course the man would be angry,
even if hewas a slave. Why hadn't the Doctor thought about that? Why was he so useless?!

"You ungrateful piece of shit." His master hissed, and the sudden change from the man's
usual cultured voice made the Doctor cower even more. "I let you serve here instead of your
lonely dungeon for one night, and this is how you thank me?"

"Oh, Jancon, don't be ridiculous." Ilaria suddenly spoke up, her voice giving away the roll of
her eyes. "Like John would do something like that willingly in front of his mate."

So she had noticed his hesitation. The Doctor wasn't sure if that information worked in his
favor or not.

"Shut up!" Jancon shouted, followed almost instantly by the sound of fingers slapping skin.
The Doctor almost gasped at the thought of his Master striking his wife – what's he going to
do to me if he's willing to hit her? – before he realized it was Ilaria who smacked him.

"Don't treat me like one of you slave, Jancon!" She shouted. "First you leave me here to
entertain all by myself when we've been planning his dinner for weeks – "

"My father was dying, Ilaria! What did you expect me to do, ignore him?!"

"Well you do a fine job of doing that with everyone else in your life!"

"So that's why you did it, huh? As revenge, because I don't pay enough attention to you,
you're going to go fuck any worthless slave who submits?"
The shouting made the Doctor want to vomit from anxiety even more than the words did.

"I'm lonely Jancon!" Ilaria practically screamed, arms crossed with a glare at her husband.
"And you never let me play with him, anyway!"

"He's not a plaything, Ilaria! Not a pet! Not a toy! Not an accessory! He's a competitor! Go
buy yourself a fuckling if you want something to pet and feed scraps to under the table!"

"He might not be my pet, Jancon, but at least I appreciate him! He's the last of his kind and
you're sending him to his death!"

"It wouldn't be his death if he could just get the fucking formula to work!"

And suddenly his anger turned physical as he spun around and swung his foot into the
Doctor's ribs. With a stunned cry, the Time Lord fell to his side, curling in around himself as
Jancon's toe slammed into a bruise he already received during training. He went in for
another swing and the Doctor raise a hand, trying to shield himself.

"Please, Master -"

The blow landed before he could speak more. He tried to stifle the groan that came with it,
but it still tore passed his lips as his arms wrapped around his throbbing chest.

"Jancon!"

"Stop! He's hurt!" Rose shouted.

"It's done!"

Silence followed the Doctor's quiet words. He was still laying on his side, curled tightly in a
ball but not daring to get up without permission in case his master wanted to continue using
his ribcage as a soccer ball. A deep sigh came from above him.

"Done?" Jancon asked, his voice much calmer. It didn't even sound like the same man who'd
been shouting before. "Does it work?"

The Doctor took his master's return to his usual collected voice to be a good sign and
carefully pushed himself back to his knees. His breath came heavily as he gasped through the
stabs of pain on his side. "Yes, Master." he replied quietly. "Theoretically it should work."

"Theoretically." The Doctor flinched at the way Jancon repeated the word. "Has it been
tested?"

"N-no, Master. Not on a live subject, at least. But it WILL work."

No one spoke for a minute as they all considered the Doctor's words. He could practically
feel Rose's worried eyes staring at him as he kneeled on the floor, but refused to raise his own
to meet them.
Suddenly he felt movement in front of him and flinched backwards as Jancon leaned down in
front of him. The master sighed. "I am sorry I hit you, John." He said sincerely as he placed a
hand beneath his slave's chin, lifting it so he could see the Doctor's eyes. His breath still
smelled strongly of alcohol.

"There's no need to apologize, master." The Doctor replied the way he knew he was expected
to.

"How are your ribs?"

The Doctor held back a wince as his master carefully pressed a finger to his injured side. "I'll
survive, sir."

"Of course you will," Jancon said softly as his hand moved up to cup the Doctor's cheek.
"When you're formula proves to work."

The Doctor couldn't tell if that was supposed to be reassuring or threatening, but it hardly
mattered. Jancon's thumb was rubbing gently over his cheekbone now and the Doctor felt
himself leaning into the touch. Ilaria's touch had been a blessing at dinner, but this…this was
so much more. His master telling him he was okay. Jancon had never been touchy before -
and the Doctor had been relieved considering the nature of his position - but now he found
himself wishing he could be given such reassurances every day. Just to let him know he'd
been a good boy.

Jancon frowned slightly at the way the Doctor's eyes slipped shut and his head tilted into the
touch.

"Did you enjoy serving Ilaria at dinner?" He suddenly asked.

The Doctor's eyes opened and he hesitantly lifted them to look at the woman. Ilaria had
stopped her pacing and was staring at him, waiting expectantly for his answer. "Yes, Master"
he lied quietly as his eyes slipped back to his knees.

"Do you want to be her pet?"

The doctor shook his head. "No, Master, I don't want to be a pet."

The thumb continued to caress along his hairline. The Doctor knew he should feel
uncomfortable with the invasive touch, especially considering the man doing the touching
had just been using his ribs as a kickball and could, if he wished, demand on an even worse
kind of touch. But if just felt so nice.

"What do you want to be, John?" His master asked after a moment.

The Doctor's eyes fell even further and he swallowed down a lump in his throat. "Free, sir" he
whispered hesitantly.

He half expected to be hit again for such a brazen, inappropriate comment. But it never came.
Instead, Jancon kept the same even, calm, relaxing voice as he asked, "Is it your place to
request such a thing from me?"
The Doctor's eyes jerked up so he could show his master how sincere he was when he
quickly responded. "No! No, sir, it's not my place. My place is wherever you tell me it is,
Master. I'm sorry I said –"

"Shh…" Jancon soothed the Doctor's frantic apologies. "You will have your freedom, John.
Once you complete my Trials. That was my promise, and my word is my bond."

The Doctor bowed his head to hide the doubt in his eyes. No matter how he added it up, the
odds were always against him. The virus, the drugs, the other competitors. The others had
been training for months – years even – longer than he had, and although he had a strange
knack for always managing to come out on top, he wasn't sure it would be enough this time.
And the Doctor was not fool enough to believe that Jancon wouldn't use the virus against him
during the Trail if things don't go according to plan. Not only is it a clean, blameless way to
kill the one effected, but it also turns them into a mindless killer for the last few moments of
their life. If another competitor needed to be taken out, the Doctor would make just as good a
weapon as anyone else in that arena.

He glanced up curiously as Jancon stood, turning to the two women keeping their distance
over by the couches. "Rose, why don't you help John back to the quarters." He suggested in a
quiet voice and Rose didn't need to be told twice. In a matter of seconds she was across the
room and kneeling next to the Doctor, one arm wrapped around his torso as she pulled him up
with her. The Doctor protested to the movement with a slight groan.

"I'm fine, Rose, I can manage." He said unconvincingly.

"I don't even care." She muttered back as she pulled his arm around her neck. She turned him
towards the door, away from the quietly arguing couple with more issues than any in the
universe. As they entered the corridor outside, Rose turned to the Doctor again and
murmured, "Oh, and if you ever call me 'Miss' like that again, I'll kick you in the ribs
myself."

The Doctor breathed out a laugh, but it died quickly in the air between them. Rose just
tightened her hold; half for his comfort, half for hers.
 Chapter 39

By the time the Doctor and Rose stumbled their way back across the estate to the servant's
quarters, the Time Lord was only partially awake. Rose wasn't too concerned about it. The
Doctor was exhausted, that much was obvious, and he had assured her that the pain in his
chest was not nearly enough to cause him to pass out.

They crept quietly into the complex (the other servants were probably already asleep, it was
well passed midnight) and carefully closed the door to the Doctor's room. "Alright…" Rose
huffed, trying to sound light-hearted as she let go of the Doctor and stepped over to his
dresser, opening one of the drawers. "Let's get you ready for bed."

Crash.

Rose spun around and, after a brief moment of concern, had to fight back a laugh. The Doctor
had collapsed face first into the bed, still fully clothed. "Ready." He announced, voice
muffled by the pillow.

Rose bit her thumbnail to suppress a smile. "Don't you want to take a shower first?"

"Nope."

"It'll help to get the drugs out of your system."

"I'll sleep them off." He yawned.

Now Rose couldn't hold in her laugh. "Do you at least want to get changed?"

"Naw, I'm good."

The Doctor rolled over onto his side, wincing slightly, one arm wrapped under the pillow to
prop his head up as he stared at Rose. "I'm sorry." He muttered after a moment of silent
staring. Rose opened her mouth to tell him, quite exasperatedly, to stop apologizing, but he
went on before she could form the first word. "I'm sorry I've never sung for you before."

"Doctor…"

"I've wanted to. I really, really have." His eyes were closed now. "I just – I just couldn't."

Rose could see the silver glint of another tear forming along his long eyelashes. She quickly
sat down beside him on the bed, running a thumb gently along his cheekbone to wipe away
the tear. "It's okay. Really. Honestly, only when you're ready." Rose couldn't completely
understand the drastic importance of songs and singing in Gallifreyan culture, but something
in the Doctor's voice earlier gave a hint to what the music really meant. It was something far
more profound that the human appreciation for music could ever be. It meant something on a
cultural scale Rose knew she would never have the ability to understand, and she didn't want
the Doctor to explain it. It hurt him, to be reminded of the music, to be reminded of home.
Before she knew it she was lying down next to him, fingers still running through the short,
spiky hair along his hairline. She'd hated watching Ilaria and Jancon stroking the Doctor like
some pet, but he just looked so relaxed now beneath her touch that she couldn't bring herself
to stop.

They were lying together in silence for a while when the Doctor gave a heavy sigh. "You
look beautiful tonight."

Rose didn't say anything. She'd thought he'd fallen asleep. Maybe he was still asleep, sleep
talking. His eyes were closed and his breathing deep, his features so relaxed for once and his
double heartsbeat against her shoulder was slow and steady. But then he spoke again.

"You're always beautiful. Even when covered in bits of exploded Slitheen." He laughed
quietly for a second and Rose found herself smiling as well. "Yeah…" He sighed again.
"You're always beautiful. Remember on our way to meet Charles Dickens when we first
met?"

Rose just smiled at him. "Yeah. Sort of."

The Doctor smiled sleepily. He is so stoned. "That was the first time I realized how beautiful
you were." He said nostalgically. Rose bit her tongue between her front teeth as she blushed.
And then you put on that dress, and you were simply gorgeous. You know…" He paused for
a moment to yawn before smiling widely. "For a stupid little ape."

Rose nudged him playfully, laughing at the strange saying. Why would he call her some
stupid little ape?

"You are so high right now." She giggled.

"Mmmh…" Was all the Doctor responded with.

Comfortable silence fell over them after that. Now she was almost positive the Doctor was
asleep. His forehead rested on her shoulder, nose nuzzled into the crook between her ear and
neck, one arm wrapped around her stomach like he was hugging a body pillow. Completely
innocent cuddling. And Rose loved it. She tried to shift to get a little bit more comfortable,
but the fabric of her dress ruffled loudly and she froze. She didn't want to wake him. The
Doctor needed his rest.

"'Sort of'?"

Rose started. She looked down to see that the Doctor wasn't asleep at all. In fact, his eyes had
burst wide open, filled with questioning concern.

"'Sort of'? What do you mean by 'sort of'?"

"What?" Rose asked, thoroughly confused.

The Doctor pushing himself up on an elbow, staring down at his companion with furrowed
eyebrows. "You said 'sort of.' When I asked if you remembered meeting Charles Dickens,
you said 'sort of'."
"No, you asked if I remember going to meet Charles Dickens." Rose pointed out.

"Would your answer have been any different?" Countered the Doctor.

Rose's brow shifted as she thought. Would it have? "Does it really matter?" She finally said,
sighing wearily. "It was a slip up. We're both exhausted. Just go back to sleep, Doctor."

The Time Lord hardly looked convinced, but he lowered himself back onto the pillow, still
staring at Rose until it obviously became too much effort to try and keep his eyes open. It
didn't take long. Not long at all. His eyes slipped shut and locked like prison doors, and then
sleep was upon him, but not before he managed to mumble out an almost incoherent,

"I love you, Rose."

Rose thought she'd maybe imagined it, her hopeful imagination getting the best of her this
late and night and this close to the Doctor's warm body. She pulled him closer, feeling his
head nuzzle into the crook of her neck again. And as the Doctor snored softly into her
shoulder, this time Rose was positive he was asleep.

Rose woke peacefully the next morning. Until she realized she was alone.

She sat upright in bed – not her bed – and looked around. She was in the Doctor's room. Yes,
she remembered helping him back last night after…Rose stopped herself. She really didn't
want to think about last night again. She felt an irrational blush forming in her cheeks just at
the thought of how uncomfortable and screwed up that dinner had been, not to mention when
Jancon came home and decided he wanted to practice his football swing on the Doctor's ribs.

She'd meant to ask him how he was feeling. She should have taken a look at them before
letting him fall asleep. But the Time Lord was more exhausted then she had ever seen him,
and the softness in his face once he finally got the chance to relax was like sitting in front of a
fire after a long day out in the rain. Not only did she have it inside her to disturb it, but she
found herself forgetting why she should.

Now she remembered with a rush of guilt. How long had she been asleep and how long ago
did he leave. She glanced around the rather bare room again and noticed there was no clock.
Not that the Doctor needed one. But still, it would be helpful for those silly little humans we
weren't actually able to tell time just by thinking about it hard enough.

Stupid little apes. Rose frowned as the saying sprang up to the forefront of her mind. She
stood up and smoothed out the wrinkles in her cocktail dress. Stupid little apes. That's what
he'd called her, but not in the mean, condescending way those words could easily come out
as, but more lovingly and humorously, as if it were some kind of joke between them. Maybe
it was with a passed companion. Rose hated thinking about that. Hated the idea
of others traveling around with the incredible man in his magic blue box.

But she would forgive him for that little slip. He had been exhausted and just coming down
from a pretty bad submission-high with what had to be a painfully bruised side. Rose had
forgiven for less.
Realizing there was really nothing else she could do alone in that room, Rose turned towards
the door, vaguely wondering if it would be locked. She knew the Doctor was generally
locked in at night while he slept, but did that include her? She couldn't even remember if
she'd heard the lock click any time last night after they'd gotten back.

She tested the door and, not surprisingly, it swung open with ease. For some reason she didn't
feel any better about it. Another day of dealing with Ilaria. That woman and her flippant,
frivolous attitude towards almost everything and everyone around her was really starting to
grate on Rose's nerves, and last night's 'adventures' had done nothing to put her back in
Rose's favor.

She just wanted to stay with the Doctor again, but he would be in training again for the next
couple of hours, at least, before being sent off to the labs. And speaking of which, Rose
thought with a sigh, Jancon now knew the formula was ready, so who knew if the Doctor
would even be given that break from training anymore. As happy as she was that the Doctor
was no longer slaving over the chemicals and Bunsen burners, it was the only time they were
given to see each other. What if that was over now, too?

Okay, so obviously I'll still be able to see him, Rose thought to herself with a small eye roll as
she opened the door out to the servant's yard just in time to see the Doctor and his trainer –
what was his name? Ammacus? – appearing from the trailhead just behind the complex.
They were both bare-chested, wearing only black track pants and the first pair of shoes Rose
had seen on the Doctor since they'd been captured. Rose found herself staring rather
obviously at the Doctor's shirtless chest, muscles beautifully defined along his slim torso,
glistening slightly with sweat, until her eyes fell on a thick, darkened splotch just above his
abdomen. The black and blue skin stood out brilliantly against the pale coloring of the rest of
his body and made Rose want desperately to look away even though she couldn't quite make
herself.

The two men slowed down their fast jogging pace until they eventually came to a walk by the
time they reached the yard. The Doctor stumbled slightly as he changed speed, one hand
instantly going to his side as he breathed heavily. But even as he grimaced in obvious pain, he
still managed to look up at Rose and smile through it. He even threw in a wink for good
measure.

Ammacus must have noticed this trainee's distress, for he turned around and offered the Time
Lord a sympathetic look. "Still hurting?" Even from across the yard, Rose could hear the
words through the quiet morning air. Nevertheless, she found her feet moving towards the
pair anyway.

The Doctor glanced up at him. "No, I just love myself so much I can't keep my hands off
me." He replied with a small, cheeky grin. To Rose's relief, Ammacus laughed. The Doctor
peered over the trainer's shoulder and, upon seeing Rose approaching, smiled even wider.
"Speaking of love…"

"Morning." Rose greeted cheerily, trying to block out the blush rising at his words.

Ammacus looked startled by her appearance, but quickly schooled his expression into a
careful mask. Rose had to remind herself that even her position was above this man's in the
estate. He was still considered a slave along with the Doctor.

"Good morning." He said formally. "Miss Rose, I presume?"

Rose frowned at how formal he was being and was about to open her mouth to respond when
the Doctor's voice broke through instead. "Don't. Don't call her that." Both Rose and
Ammacus turned confused eyes on the Doctor. "The 'miss' part." He clarified. "I'm pretty sure
she threatened to beat the crap out of me, too, last night if I ever called her that again."

"And I was being serious." Rose intoned playfully as she realized what he was referring to.
But it didn't matter anymore. The Doctor had closed the space between them and was
standing wonderfully close now. She could smell the sweat on his skin, but somehow it
smelled sweet and sensational, so very much like him that she didn't mind even a little bit. He
ran a hand lovingly along her cheek, brushing her bangs out of her eyes as he pressed a quick
kiss to her forehead.

"Sleep well?" He asked.

Rose nodded and hummed an affirmation. "How you feeling?" Was the more pressing
question.

The Doctor shrugged. "Better. Thanks for last night, by the way." His tone got serious very
quickly. "I'm sorry I was so – "

"You got to stop apologizing." Rose interrupted. "Seriously, it's getting ridiculous."

The Doctor smiled in response and brushed another strand of hair behind her ear. She liked
the way he was looking at her, like she was the only thing he had left in the entire universe. A
lump suddenly formed at the base of her throat as she realized she kind of was.

The Doctor didn't seem to notice her sudden nausea as he glanced down at his own body and
winced. He took a quick step back, but not far enough to have to remove his hand from
cupping the side of her head. "Gah, I'm sorry. I'm covered in sweat. That's disgusting."

Rose just shrugged, happy to be thinking of something else than her most recent realization.
"Eh, whatever I can do to ruin this dress" and any memory of last night's event that comes
with it "is welcome and encouraged."

"Oh, well, in that case," The Doctor slipped closer to her, lowering his voice into a seductive
whisper as he brought his lips towards her ear. "I know a quick, fun way to rip it up a bit."

Rose felt her breath quicken, heart hammering in her chest as she realized just how close the
Doctor was standing, the front of his body pressed full against her's. The cool morning air
suddenly felt much, much warmer. She didn't know if she should step away while she still
could or let herself get engulfed in the smell of his skin, in the feel of his hair, in the touch of
his fingers and lips…Her eyes drifted upwards towards his and was almost startled to see
how intently he was watching her.
"Interesting…" He muttered as he took in whatever look was on Rose's face. Even she
couldn't tell what it was. Lust? Desire? Hesitance? Fear?

"Ahem."

Rose and the Doctor broke away, the former appearing much more flustered than the other as
they turned to look at Ammacus. Rose blushed in embarrassment as she remembered they
weren't alone in the yard, but apparently that's not what the trainer had been trying to get their
attention about. Ammacus jerked his head slightly to the right and both Rose and the Doctor
seemed to simultaneously deflate as they followed his gaze to see Jancon striding across the
lawn.

The Doctor took another step away, instantly falling into a submissive pose as his 'master' got
closer. Rose was glad to notice he didn't fall to his knees instantly like he had last night, but
she still didn't like the way his hands automatically clasped behind his back and his head
bowed down. Rose turned to half glare at the man as he approached the group.

"John," He said emotionlessly in place of an actual greeting. "Go to the showers and then
report to me at the laboratory."

The Doctor dipped his head a little further in acknowledgment. "Master." He left
immediately, one finger discretely sweeping across the small of Rose's back as he passed her
on his way back to the quarters, sending a slight shiver up the human's spine.

With the Doctor gone, Rose turned her attention to Ammacus, who was also standing at
attention in front of Jancon. She noticed he stood more like a warrior before his commanding
officer, not like a slave before his Master as Rose and the Doctor had been taught. He must
not have come from Eyal.

"How is he?" Jancon asked in a quiet voice that didn't quite hide his surprisingly genuine
concern. Was he feeling guilty for last night? Rose almost scoffed. As much as he should be,
she highly doubted that was the case.

Ammacus seemed to be of the same opinion as her as he looked his owner straight in the eye
and said, so casually that it almost completely gave away what he really meant, "In pain, but
he will be better soon. I've noticed he has impressive healing abilities."

Jancon nodded in agreement. "Thankfully. That will be enough of his training for today. We'll
allow him to rest for a time before continuing as usual tomorrow. The Trial starts in only
three days, I want him in top shape."

Ammacus dipped his head. "Yes, Dominus."

Finally Jancon seemed to notice Rose was still standing there. "Miss Rose," He began, and
Rose had to hold in the sudden scowl she felt rising every time someone called her that now.
"I believe Ilaria is awaiting you. Something about…shopping? Or a fitting? Whichever it may
be, I'm sure it includes spending even more of my money, so, naturally, you must not delay."
He said the words with the sarcastic yet defeated tone Rose had heard from many husbands
back home, and she would have laughed if the image of the man's foot slamming into the
Doctor's side didn't keep rising up behind her eyes. She didn't give him the pleasure of the
same respectful head dip both the Doctor and Ammacus had given upon his orders, and
instead just turned around and stalked away, grabbing the skirts of her dress roughly so she
didn't trip over them on her way back across the lawns.

And so it was with wet hair, a new shirt, and a hesitant step that the Doctor made his way
back to the lab that morning. This was the second day in a row his routine had been changed,
and even though the Doctor now knew the reason why, it did nothing to ease the anxiety
creeping up his spine the closer he got to the laboratory.

Jancon was going to make him test the formula. Which really wasn't that big of a deal when
the Doctor thought about it on the surface. He knew his lord and master would want to see
the virus in action before allowing it to be used in the Trial. It was more of the fact that, once
Jancon agrees that it works and sends the creation off to his contact supplying the competitor
tags, it will all be real. It will really be happening, and the Doctor would really be competing
in a race to the death, one in which he would be personally responsible for each and every
death in that arena.

Just another two dozen or so souls to help paint his hands red.

His fingers twitched towards the new pale scar on his left forearm. The bandage had been
removed two days earlier, but the stitches holding the sliced skin together had remained as a
precaution until about ten minutes ago. The skin had knitted back together well enough,
covering the small patched of raised skin where beneath sat the only form of redemption the
Doctor had left. It itched with anticipation, as if it knew the enormity of its purpose and the
stress was tangible. He ran a single finger over it, feeling the raised bump, wondering if his
gamble would even pay off in the end.

There was no guard posted outside the door this time, so the Doctor just walked in on his
own. The slightly slopping halls had become so familiar to the Doctor by now that he could
navigate them in the dark. Half of the time he had to, in fact, after so many nights not leaving
the lab until well into the morning. Fortunately the hall was brightly lit now, no doubt
because of Jancon's presence.

He passed the gym, which had been abandoned for the day as Ammacus had already
informed him of his day off (just another schedule change that gave the Doctor an uneasy
feeling), and made his way directly towards the lab.

The Doctor stopped in the doorway, surprised into a standstill. Four people were waiting for
him inside the laboratory, two sitting, two standing, and – no, wait, five people. One was
kneeling just behind the chair occupied by Jancon. The Doctor hadn't even noticed the slave
at first look, but he supposed that was the point. He took in the sight of the thin boy – he
couldn't have been older than fifteen in human years – with his dark skin and silver hair
concealing his downturned face. He didn't recognize the boy, he certainly wasn't from the
estate.

Perhaps he belonged to the stranger sitting across from Jancon. This man was clearly not a
slave, for her wore a nice, expensive suit and sat back in his seat with the casual air of one
accustom to being waited on. He had the same charcoal skin and silver hair as Jancon and
Ilaria and must have been from their home planet. An old family friend? Perhaps a relative?
Whoever he was, the Doctor couldn't quite place what he and the slave were doing down
there.

The other three people were easily identifiable. One, obviously, was Jancon, and the two men
standing were part of the usual guards the Doctor had seen around the estate. One stood near
him by the door as if guarding it while the other stood at attention against the wall closest to
Jancon and his guests.

Disliking the look the closest guard kept shooting at him, the Doctor stepped into the room,
clearing his throat quietly to get Jancon's attention before bowing his head. "Master." He said
in an echo of what he had earlier, not knowing what else to say in this situation. He was far
too sober – if being off those drugs counted as sobriety – to deal with decorum around his
master's guests. He needed to tread carefully, as his throbbing ribs kept reminding him.

"Ah, John!" Jancon stood from the chair and strode over to his slave, thoroughly ignoring the
new one still kneeling, despondently, on the floor. The Doctor suppressed the urge to flinch
as Jancon's hands fell on his shoulders, clasping them like an excited friend. "How are you
doing today, my boy?"

"I'm fine, sir." He answered politely but made the obvious point of looking Jancon in the eye
as he said it. From that, the clearest understand of his words was evidently reached. No, I'm
not fine, and you know why. Don't play that game with me. I won't play along anymore.

Chair legs squeaked across the tiled floor as the other man stood. "Ah, so this is the famous
John Smith of Gallifrey!" The man moved swiftly across the room, hand held out as he
smiled brightly at the Time Lord. The Doctor glanced momentarily over at Jancon before
taking the offered hand, allowing the man to shake it vigorously. His smile never wavered
and so the Doctor forced one onto his own lips, although it still felt as fake as it was.

"Yes, sir. Although I'm not sure about the 'famous' bit." He opted for politeness and humility
again, knowing Jancon would want him on his best behavior in from of his new guest and
didn't wish to give him any reason to demand the drug. The Doctor needed the sharpest mind
right now, more than any other time so far.

The man waved his hand through the air as it to physically swipe away the Doctor's words.
"Nonsense, boy. You are the mind behind this lunatic's drunken schemes." He motioned
towards Jancon so casually with a soft chortle. "You are the genius who's going to make my
tags legendary."

And now the Doctor understood. This was the man in charge of providing the competitor tags
for the Trial. This was the man who would be putting the Doctor's destruction into action.

"Grydon," Jancon chuckled. "Be careful, lest my slave begin to think himself worth
something." He laughed good-heartedly as he clasped a hand on the Doctor's shoulder in a
brotherly grasp. The Doctor fought back the urge to flinch away, both at the touch as much as
at the words.
The strange boy was still kneeling on the floor, seemingly oblivious to them all.

"I understand just enough about science to know never to mess with the methodical madness
of a scientist's lab." Jancon was speaking again. "So we chose to wait for you to direct us to
your finished formula."

The Doctor nodded, knowing he wasn't expected to speak. He was glad Jancon had offered
him even that much privacy. He would very much rather his master didn't come across the
Memory Stones intended for Rose. That would make matters far more complicated than they
already were.

He had stored the virus in one of the refrigerated drawers. He pulled the two small, clear vials
out. Two was all they needed to stock all the competitor's tags. Two was all they needed to
cause the horrific deaths of at least two dozen innocent beings.

The extra tags he'd been provided with sat empty in the fridge. He pulled them out along with
another vial filled with his own orange blood. This would suffice for an example since he had
no other blood supply…unless he asked for a sample from Jancon, the symbolism enough to
make his smirk to himself, in which case he was sure another broken rib would be the least of
his worries.

He began to move towards the microscopes, ready to prepare a petri dish of blood and death
for their viewing pleasure, when Jancon held out a hand.

"That won't be necessary, John. You may pass the formula to Grydon."

Uncertain and feeling increasingly uneasy, he handed the supplies over to the man. He hadn't
counted on an expert being present for the testing, and even though this Grydon was an
engineer, not a scientist, there was no telling how much this man might know about viruses
and chemical warfare.

The chip in his arm, inconveniently, began to itch again. He tried to ignore it, not wanting to
draw attention to the still healing skin below his elbow. Instead, his eyes fell afresh on the
boy still on the floor. Fourteen years old, desperately thin, and – the Doctor forced the sudden
lump in his throat down – wearing an uncomfortable looking metal collar around his fragile
neck.

"And who's this?" He found himself asking, needing someone to address the fact that the boy
was actually there an not some messed up figment of his imagination. He knelt down in from
of the boy, flashing him what he hoped was a convincingly warm smile. The boy finally
raised his eyes, knowing it was a fellow slave he risked making eye contact with. The Doctor
wished he hadn't. The boy's eyes were dull and dead, like there was nothing left worth seeing.

"He has no name." Jancon responded so casually he might as well not have been listening.
Grydon was now busy expertly filling in the delicate capsule with the virus mixture, all
attention primed and focused.

The Doctor offered the boy an understanding look which he think went ignored, or maybe
completely unseen. He reached out to grasp the boy's bony arm in a comforting grip. Not
only did the boy not flinch, but he didn't even seem to notice the touch. His eyes betrayed
nothing. Dead and despondent.

"Were you called anything before?" He asked in a quiet voice, not needing to clarify what he
meant by 'before'.

"He cannot speak, John." Jancon cut in in the same tone as before. "He bit off his own tongue
not long ago. Something about an electrical training accident." The Doctor's grip tightened
around the boy's arm in anger. He knewexactly what 'electrical training' meant. Now the boy
did seem to notice the Doctor's touch, squirming slightly in discomfort as if he could sense
the Time Lord's anger and incorrectly assumed it was aimed at him.

Grydon suddenly made a low, disbelieving scoff. "Well, I hope you got a discount on the boy,
then. Can't imagine he'd have been an easy sell."

"Oh, yes, I basically stole him from the facility. Eyal was more than happy I was taking him
off their hands."

The Doctor was thoroughly disgusted by now. His fingers, shaking only slightly, moved
down the boy's arm until he reached his hand, gently rolling it over so he could see the inside
of his wrist. Familiar black symbols stared back at him. MD196310. Only 5 numbers from
the Doctor's own identification number. They had probably been in Eyal at the same time. He
hadn't been able to help the boy. If the Doctor had only been stronger, only been smarter and
faster, the boy might not only have been free by then, but could still have the use of his voice.
The Doctor had to drop the boy's hand before his skin began to burn form guilt.

The Doctor couldn't seem to be able to look up from his own trembling hands in his lap.
"And what did you purchase him for, Master?" He tried to ask politely as he felt the venom of
fury burning through him.

"To help you." Was Jancon's useless answer. The Doctor frowned.

"I don't understand, Master. I already completed the virus, I don't need a lab assistant."

Jancon finally deemed the Doctor worthy enough for a quick glance. "John, he's not here to
help you in the development of the virus. He's here to help in the testing of it."

Red. That was all the Doctor saw as he flew to his feet. He didn't even care that the boy
practically fell backwards in surprised fear. "No." He growled before he could stop himself.
"Absolutely not."

Both men stopped what they were doing to stare at him in disbelief. The Doctor didn't even
know, but he had taken up a fighting stance, feet spread a little wider than a shoulder's width
apart, arms slightly raised, body poised to pounce like a dangerous jungle cat.

"I beg your pardon?" Jancon asked slowly as if he didn't believe what he'd just heard.

"I'm not letting you use this child as a lab rat for my virus!" The Doctor practically spat back.
Jancon raised his gray eyebrows. "I think this slave is a perfect test subject for the formula.
Look at him." He motioned towards the boy who was acting as if they weren't talking about
his own fate right above him. "Mute, practically comatose –"

"Because they tortured him to the point of biting off his own tongue!"

"It's not as if this boy would ever be useful for anything else in his life."

"Except to die?! He's innocent!"

"As are you, John,"

Jancon's voice was deathly quiet now, and for some reason the Doctor felt his jaw snap shut,
unable to throw any more words into the suffocating silence between them. Innocent. He had
been far from innocent. So very, very far.

Jancon continued after an agonizing second. "But don't believe for a second that I will
hesitate in ending you in that arena any more than I hesitate now with this. You may be my
competitor, my property, but that is all you are, and he is even less."

The Doctor was seething. The boy did nothing. The Doctor wondered for a moment if he was
deaf as well.

"I will not kill his boy just for the sake of protecting your pride and greed."

"That's all well and fine, John, because you're not going to do it. Did you really think I would
allow you anywhere near this formula during testing? You are clever, John, but you are too
clever. And a slave should never be too clever for their own good. Don't think it hasn't
crossed my mind that you would find a way to sabotage my strategy. I know your morals all
too well by now, you can thank your Rose for that. Chain him to the table."

For a frantic second the Doctor thought Jancon was talking about him. He saw the guard step
forward, chain dangling from his hand. He took a quick step backwards, throat admitting a
strange animalistic growl of warning, only to discover the guard was reaching for the boy
instead. His calloused fingers wrapped around a loop on the back of he metal collar and
tugged, dragging the boy backwards towards one of the lab tables. The boy choked, hands
flying to his neck in the first sign of awareness he'd made all day. His legs scrambled and
kicked as he was pulled by the neck for a few feet before the guard got to work weaving the
chain through the loop.

The Doctor launched himself forward. He reached for the guard, not knowing what he would
do one he got a hold of him. But sudden pain exploded through his leg. He shouted out as he
dropped to the floor, writhing and kicking out with his ankle as if to kick the pain away, but it
wouldn't come off. The anklet never came off. His back arched off the ground as the
electricity continued to pulse through him. His jaw snapped together, teeth landing on his
tongue. He could taste blood and metal.

Finally Jancon released his hold on the trigger and the Doctor slumped to the ground,
groaning and panting. A string of orange-tinted saliva hung from his lips and he quickly spit
it aside, grimacing at the metallic taste. "Him, too." He heard through the buzzing in his ears,
and next thing he knew he was being grabbed from behind by the second guard.

He hauled him up by the armpits, dragging his limp body to the lab table opposite the boy's.
The Doctor tried to fight off the hands, to scramble back to his feet, but another shock
slammed through him. This one was short, but it was enough to knock him back off his feet.
He landed heavily against the leg of the table, which the guard wasted no time in attaching
his wrist to with a pair of handcuffs.

The other guard had finished chaining the boy up like a dog and stepped back. The boy was
staring at the Doctor in horror and the Time Lord couldn't tell if it was from fear of what was
about to happen or fear of what had just happened. The boy had once been electrocuted to the
point of biting off his own tongue. That sight could not have been settling for him to see.

"Are you ready, Grydon?"

"Just calibrating the gun. Should be….yes, there it is. Ready."

Grydon took a step closer to the boy, who flinched away, hyper aware of what was going on
around him now. The man just grabbed a fistful of the boy's gray hair and jerked his head
carelessly to the side. An involuntary croak of pain came from the boy. Tears were in his
eyes. The Doctor thought there might be some in his own. Everything was turning blurry,
hazy, smeared and smudged with rage and fear.

"Please." He found himself gasping, staring up at Jancon. "Please, don't do this. He's just a
child. Just a child…" He felt a sob bubbling up inside him and tried to choke it down.
"Master, please."

"Continue, Grydon." Jancon ordered as if the Doctor wasn't even in the room. Grydon
pressed the nuzzle of the tag gun against the exposed flesh on the boy's neck, just above
where the metal collar chaffed his skin. The boy's eyes were wide with terror. He didn't know
what was going on, how could he? How could he know what the tag would do to him? How
could he know he was about to experience a violent, painful death for no viable reason? A
death most people wouldn't even allow their pets to suffer.

The chip in the Doctor's arm positively burned under his skin. It was agony. Imaginary
agony, that what could save the boy was so close. But he couldn't use it. The Doctor felt a
stab to his heart and he found himself doing the math. One life now, two dozen or more saved
later.

"Please." He was saying again, tugging against the cuff on his right wrist. "Use me. Test it on
me. Please."

And then suddenly everything was far too familiar. The feeling of being chained to a pole,
wrist chaffing against a metal cuff. Some innocent someone sitting in front of him, terrified
into silence, eyes wide and staring as the predator bore down on them. The Doctor begging to
do it instead, to take their place, to keep them safe. But no matter how he begged and shouted
and struggled, the handcuff cut into his wrist just as sharply as it had in that jail cell as Rat-
Face took his revenge against the Doctor for some sadist's death, taking it out on Rose. And
now some sadist was taking his pride out on yet another innocent soul, and the Doctor was
just as helpless, just as useless, just as worthless.

The sound of the tag gun going off was like a bullet through he Doctor's chest. But it was
nothing compared to the mirthless laugh that followed it. "Test the virus on you? What would
be the point of that, John? I still need you to compete."

The Doctor glared up at the man. His eyes were dark now, black with clouds of fury. "I
won't." He spat. "I won't do it. I'll stand on the start line and allow the other competitors to rip
me apart if I have to. You won't get me to cooperate anymore, Jancon."

Jancon just shrugged. "That's really too bad, John. I suppose if you refuse to compete I'll just
have to keep testing out the virus to ensure it will still do its work for me without you. And
who knows, maybe my next test subject will be that beautiful wilting flower you brought into
this life. Rose would make a rather attractive corpse, don't you think?"

The snarl that escaped the Doctor's barred teeth fell on deaf ears as the monster who owned
him turned once more to his companion. "Alright, so how does this work?" He asked as
casually as if they were discussing how a microwave works. Grydon, for his part, did well at
pretending nothing out of the ordinary had just happened.

"I believe this remote here will emit a light as soon as a tag is activated. And…yes, there it
is." He announced as he pressed a different button on the tag gun to activate the tag beneath
the boy's skin. "Then once it's on, the tags identification number will go up on the screen
here. Then it looks like you just select the number you want and press this button." His meaty
finger hovered over the launch button and the Doctor felt his hearts stop beating all together.
"Ready?"

Jancon flashed him an excited smile. "Let's begin!"

 Chapter 40

The guards waited until the echoing footsteps of the two overly excited businessmen drifted
into silence before unlocking the Doctor's cuff. The metal ring fell away more red than silver
as the Doctor hand landed limply at his side. Subconsciously, he pulled it to his chest,
cradling his bleeding, shredded wrist as he stared, trance-like, at a random tile on the floor.
The guard stood over him for a moment longer, shifting uneasily, one finger hovering over
the button of the little silver remote they'd been granted, just in case.

If they expected the Time Lord to do anything rash or sudden, they were sorely mistaken.
Over the last ten minutes they had been far too liberal with the use of the remote,
electrocuting the older slave at least nine times as every sound and movement from him was
interpreted as disobedience. Eventually, he stopped pleading with his master, stopped tugging
at the handcuff, stopped desperately trying to reach the writhing boy. Stopped doing
anything, really.

Finally they left, shutting the door behind them, exchanging quick concerns about whether
they "broke it" and if the Prebassador would be angry. Best to let it come back to its senses
before doing anything else.

The Doctor barely even acknowledged their absence. Thoughts that should have flitted
quickly and fluidly across his mind now felt like rivers of molasses, thick and congealed.
And he couldn't tell which shock had caused it: the electrocution, or the sight of that innocent
boy choking on his own vomit while the flash-fever boiled his brain from the inside.

A flinch shook him out of his reverie, forcing the glaze off his eyes. Using the edge of the
table he'd been cuffed to, the Doctor pulled himself to his feet. His knees shook slightly, and
his right leg with the anklet felt swollen and tender around the metal ring, but he shuffled
nonetheless around the side of the counter and riffled through one of the top drawers. As
ever, his eyes stayed on task, refusing to drift.

He pulled a syringe out of the drawer, followed by a dished microscope slide and a clean rag.
Then he forced himself to kneel beside the small, immobile body. He built a quick dam
around his river of molasses thoughts and wiped his mind clear of everything else, only
leaving room for habitual action. His fingers trailed up the boy's arm. Blood dripped from the
crescent-shaped cuts dug into the palm of the boy's hand, nails caked with bits of reddened
skin tissue where they'd bitten too far into his own flesh. The dam became a battlement at the
sight, keeping the river in and the threatening new images out. The Doctor let his fingers do
the thinking as they found the crook of the boy's elbow, slipped the needle beneath the ashen
skin, and withdrew a syringe-worth of blood.

The Doctor released a few drops of the blood onto the dished slide and placed it beneath the
microscope. The room was deadly silent as he switched on the light and peered through the
lenses, eyelashes brushing the glass. Deadly silent. Neither occupant of the room breathed –
one still not able, and the other no longer needing to.
Blindly, the Doctor reached for his left arm, fingering up to the square scar along its
underside. Without removing his gaze from the slide, the Doctor pressed down on the raised
skin. Heat pulsed from the device beneath his skin for a moment before cooling again,
informing him the signal had been sent.

The Doctor watched. His stony expression never changed, the mask he'd slipped on
somewhere around the seventh or eighth electrocution never wavering as he observed the
cells dancing around in their little dish. Finally he looked away, sighing resolutely as he
rubbed a hand over his eyes, massaging his brow as his eyes remained screwed shut.

"I could have saved you."

His announcement received no reply.

At last he forced himself to glance down at the boy. And once he did he couldn't look away.

"I'm sorry." He choked out. "I am so, so sorry."

He slid down the side of the counter, legs no longer feeling the need to hold him up. Instead,
the Doctor crawled the short expanse to the boy's side, eyes scanning him, taking in every
detail down to his shredded little hand. He felt the sudden strong urge to hold that hand, to
turn it so you couldn't see the blood and only the unmarred skin on its back, to place it on the
boy's chest as if he were just sleeping.

The boy was tiny. So much smaller now than he had seemed before, looking all the more like
the child he was. Placing the hand on his chest didn't help though. He'd never seen anything
look as far from peaceful as the boy in front of him. Foamy drool still leaked out from
between the boy's slightly parted lips, pooling on the floor, tinged slightly with red. Sweat
was drying on his forehead from the flash-fever. The Doctor designed the drug to act fast, to
get the horror over with; but watching it happen right in front of him, the Doctor realized the
speed did nothing to ease the amount of pain the virus put you through before the throat
closes off and the fever finally takes you away.

The Doctor grabbed the rag from the table above them and gently wiped the sweat and foam
away. He then used a pair of bolt tongs usually used to bend and mold chemistry set riggings
to snip through the thin chain connected to the boy's collar. Here, the Doctor's mask fell and
he grimaced and almost had to look away. There was no skin left on the boy's neck. He had
struggled so passionately against the collar during the height of his virus-induced panic that
the metal had simply sheered the skin off. So desperate was the boy's sudden need to launch
himself at the other members in the room, so wild where his eyes, so deadly were his raking
nails clawing at the thin air two feet from Jancon's fascinated face that the boy hadn't even
noticed the pain he was putting himself through.

The Doctor winced. It was time, once again, to stop thinking about that. About everything.
The battlements became a fortress as he pushed himself back to the opposite counter, leaning
his shoulders against its side as his arm wrapped automatically around his chest, compressing
his sore and bruised ribs.
He sat there for what could have been hours, but his mind supplied that it had only been
twenty minutes. The door was unlocked. He could have left at any time. He had no where he
needed to be. No training exercises, no lab duty, no virus to perfect. But he couldn't leave. He
sat with the boy, even though his presence went unnoticed by those vacant, milky eyes. He
couldn't leave him, not until the guards or servants or whoever else would come to claim the
body arrived.

Until then, he stared at the boy's childish face from where he sat and didn't try to imagine it
full of life and dressed in a smile. He didn't think about the what the boy could have done,
what he could have been. He didn't think about what the virus would be used for and what
evil he'd unleashed into the universe yet again. He didn't think about any of this no matter
how strongly the thoughts battered against the fortress walls.

Instead, he thought about Trail tactics and avoidance maneuvers and offense and defense and
survival skills and combat training until the door slid open and the guards returned to take the
battered body away.

"I do love to garden."

Ilaria hummed as she snipped away a wayward leaf from the bright red plant before her. She
tilted her head to the side, a strand of purple hair slipping from behind her ear as she
observed the flower. "It may seem mundane and lower-class, but it relaxes me. Soothes my
stress. Reminds me that I have control over the life of the foliage, that it is my duty to care
for it lest the plants become neglected and die." She snipped away another stray leaf. "Do you
garden, Rose?"

The question was simply one more in a long line of unrequited conversation attempts. The
Prebassador's wife glanced over her shoulder at the human lounging in a sun-chair. Her
aquamarine dress was folded up to her knees – a vulgar human habit, it appeared – to give her
legs more sun as she turned the page of the book she'd been immersed in. So immersed, in
fact, that the girl had said nothing all morning, not responded to any of Ilaria's attempts to
ignite even the most pathetic excuse of a conversation.

She didn't even attempt to conceal the disappointed sigh that escaped her lips. She went back
to preening the bushes, but the silence didn't favor her. Ilaria never liked silence, preferring to
instead surround herself with parties and people and pets. Rose would never make a suitable
pet. She was far too moody and temperental. Not to mention it was illegal, anyway, to keep a
human collared and leashed. But John…

John would have looked quite lovely with a diamond-studded collar around that slim neck of
his.

Speaking of the slave, Ilaria glanced up in time to see two guards leaving her husband's
science chamber, carrying a bundle hidden beneath a sheet between them. A dozen paces
behind was John, hands shoved deep in his pockets, brow scrunched in thought as he broke
away from following the guards and began a slow, contemplative walk across the grounds. A
rustle of paper behind her back told her Rose had noticed him as well. It was as if the human
had a sixth scent when it came to her mate. Perhaps that was an evolutionary trait among all
of humankind.

Suddenly Ilaria was gripped by a pressing urge to justify her actions from the night before.
How odd. She had never felt the need to explain herself to anyone before; not to Jancon, not
to her selfish, overbearing mother…

She snipped away another leaf, perhaps a little too forcefully.

"Rose," She started off quietly, a tint of seriousness plaguing her voice that she cared very
little for. "I understand you are upset with me and don't wish to engage in any form of
communication; and yet," Ilaria sighed deeply as she chose her words. "I must make myself
clear. Employing John as my server last night had no vindictive motives behind it. I did not
intend for events to escalate as they did, or for my dear," She sneered the word as she sheared
off an entire limb of the bush before her. "- Husband to react in the manner in which he did.
John was in my care, my personal slave for that time being, and I should have protected him.
And I apologize for the brutality I brought upon him."

She glanced over her shoulder just long enough to see that Rose's eyes had stopped moving
across the page. The knuckles holding the edge of the book where white and her head was
tilted ever-so slightly towards Ilaria, ears taking in everything her posture tried to make look
like she wasn't. A smirk played across Ilaria's face for only a fraction of a second. At least she
knew how to get the human's attention.

"As I was saying before," Ilaria went on, trying to add a more chipper tone to her words.
"When something is entrusted in my care, it is my obligation and responsibility as its
caretaker to protect and provide for its needs. Something I wish to offer John
wholeheartedly." She paused and puffed up the plant, making the flowers show vibrantly
against the attentively sculpted leafs. "There! Much better, isn't it?" She asked brightly and
moved as if to present the plant to Rose.

She had not expected to turn around and see the book laid flat along the girl's lap, or to see
Rose looking up at her with a furrowed glare.

"So…so what you're saying," Rose began as if trying to wrap her head around a large,
difficult math equation. "Is that you want to keep John as your…pet…so you
can protect him?" She gave a soft snort of laughter as she let herself fall back against the
fabric of the sun chair. "Well, I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but your pet is about to be
shipped off to a battle to the death in three days time. How's that for protection, hmm?
Because I've got to say, between that and last night's 'events', you're really doing one hell of a
job keeping what's in your care safe."

Rose stood suddenly, letting the book fall unceremoniously to the ground at her feet. She
gave a mocking curtsey. "Your flowers look lovely, Mistress. May I be of any more
assistance?" She didn't wait for a response to her sarcastic comments, however, as she spun
around and began to march down the steps from the garden terrace towards the lawns, aqua-
colored skirts swirling around her ankles like angry sea waves.
Rose resisted the urge to scoff indignantly like some teenager. She'd already stormed away in
an angry huff, there was no need to add to her juvenile act. Very mature, Miss Tyler. She
shook her head as she continued her quick pace across the lawns.

As pathetic and childish as her storming away was, she just couldn't stand to listen to that
woman for a second longer. The woman who tried to justify turning someone into a slave,
forcing them to kneel at her feet, serve her,sing to her when it was clear it hurt him more than
any shock or whip possibly could. And she was apologizing for 'events escalating as they
did'? No. The only apology Rose would be accepting any time soon is the one that comes
after the Doctor's chains are broken and they are free once again.

But with every passing hour that day begins to feel more and more like just another childish
fantasy.

Three days - well, two and a half now that the sun had finally passed over the center of the
sky – were all they had left together before the Doctor would be sent off to fight in a rich-
man's meaningless war against boredom. And Rose was scared. She was honestly petrified,
no matter what face she put on around the Doctor. Because she knew him. She knew the
Time Lord was the strongest, smartest, and bravest creature in the whole of the universe. But
he was also the kindest, gentlest, most compassionate being Rose had even encountered,
despite his dark and difficult past. The Doctor had gotten them out of a lot of sticky situations
before, performed feats of daring and tenacity that saved their skin more times than Rose
could recall. But killing?

It wasn't him. It wasn't the Doctor. Once upon a time it may have been, but not anymore. She
knew he could and she knew he would, but even if he proves to be faster and luckier than the
rest of the sorry sods trapped in that arena as well – most of whom Rose is sure would not
even blink in hesitance at the idea of killing anyone for the possibility of freedom – what
next? If he makes it out of there, he won't be the Doctor. Not her Doctor. Not the Doctor she
saved, who grabbed her hand and told her to run, and who held onto it as if his very life
depended on her presence every day.

The Doctor will not survive in the arena. In one way or another.

She found him on one of the hills that rolled the grass around them into knolls. He was laying
against one of the mounds, staring up at the impossibly blue sky with his hands folded
beneath his head like a pillow. Rose sauntered over.

"Share a plot in paradise?"

His eyes shifted over to her, but the rest of him remained motionless. "Sure," He responded.
"Once you find it."

"Oh, I don't know." Rose breathed out as she collapsed beside him, not caring even in the
slightest if the dress Ilaria lent her go grass stains. She stared down at the Doctor. "View's not
so bad right here, so why not?"

The Doctor gave her a weary smile that caused the laugher-lines around his eyes that she so
desperately loved to stand out in full force. "Quite right." He agreed after a moment, eyes
never leaving his companions face.

Rose eased herself down to lie beside him, settling her head on his outstretched arm.
Together, they stared up at the sky, neither saying a word for a good long while and just
watching. Rose could hear the thump-thump-thump-thump of his hearts and she wondered if
he could hear hers as well.

It was a gorgeous day despite Rose's stormy mood. The air was hot, but the breeze was cold
and the grass just damp enough to cool her skin. She breathed in deeply through her nose,
trying to savor the rare moment of peace.

Her nose crinkled. She sniffed again. She rolled over onto her side, facing the Doctor, eyes
still closed, and sniffed a third time.

"Hmm?" The Doctor asked without opening his own eyes. Rose just moved closer and
sniffed the tips of the Time Lord's hair before making a face.

"Did you set your hair on fire?"

The Doctor actually cringed at the question. "Uhhhhh…." He dragged the sound out for a
while before finally finishing, "Not exactly…"

Rose propped herself up on an elbow. "How do you 'not exactly' set your hair on
fire? Again, I might add." She had to hold back the snicker that threatened to arise as she
remembered the last time the Doctor got a little too excited about the local wildlife of a
strange planet. Apparently some butterflies in the universe like to breath fire.

The Doctor shifted as well so he could turn and face her without the sun glaring into his eyes.
Whatever statement he was about to make, however, was instantly cut off as his right arm
came into view.

"Oh my God." Rose blurted out as she grabbed the Doctor's bloody, swollen wrist. He winced
and gave a small gasp as the skin pulled and fresh blood began to ooze out of the wound.
"What the hell happened this time?" Rose demanded.

(The fact that she even had to include the words 'this time' made her stomach feel sick.)

"It's nothing." The Doctor went to pull his wrist out of her grasp. When she just held on
tighter, determined to check the entire injury over, the Doctor groan in exasperation.
"Seriously, Rose, it's nothing to worry about. The testing just got a little…heated."

At that, Rose dropped his wrist. "Heated." She repeated as her eyes darted to his ankle. "And
exactly how many times were you electrocuted during this heated testing session? Enough to
char the tips of you hair?"

The stormy mood was back. So much for their little plot in paradise. The Doctor couldn't
even go half a day without getting himself injured or tortured, and Rose couldn't go half a day
without worrying her hair gray over it.
With a relinquishing sigh, the Time Lord's eyes fell to his lap, fingers absentmindedly pulling
clumps of grass from the ground by their roots. Rose waited rather impatiently for his answer.

"Yes, you're right." He finally admitted. "Things didn't go as…smoothly as I would have
liked them to during the virus test. But what matters – what we should be taking away from
this," The Doctor switched into the tone she recognized as the one he used to try and
convince himself of his own words, "is that this works exactly as intended." He tapped the
inside of his left arm where the scar had turned into four pale, pink lines.

"No one is going to fall victim to this madman's plot." The Doctor continued with enough
conviction that he almost actually had Rose convinced of his own belief in it.

"Not even you."

Rose quietly voiced the concern they had both refused to express until now. Yes, the tiny,
microscopic monitor on the chip inside the Doctor's arm would alert him whenever a tag is
activated and the virus released, but what if it happened to him? What was the lag between
the activation of the virus and the gentle buzz of the alert system? How quickly would the
virus attack his mind? Would he even have time to notice and release the antivirus into his
own system? Would he even be in the right state of mind in time to do it? There were too
many questions and far too few answers and it all made Rose's stomach roll with anxiety.

As lost in her thoughts and concerns as she was, Rose didn't even notice how close the
Doctor was until she felt the gentle press of a kiss to her brow. Her eyes closed and muscles
instantly relaxed as if an involuntary reaction to the Time Lord's touch.

"You don't need to worry about me, Rose."

"Of course I do." Came another involuntary response. "I always have, what makes now any
different?"

A hand squeezed hers and her eyelids flicked open, immediately greeted by the oldest,
kindest, darkest, and most determined brown eyes she had ever seen. They held her
captivated as they came closer, her trance only breaking with the brush of lips against her
own. She pushed forward, closing the marginal gap between them. The kiss was soft,
comforting, and brief, but it still sent tendrils of sparks through her body. She felt both numb
and hypersensitive all at the same time, all too away of the hand along the nape of her neck,
the fingers gently brushing through her hair, the Doctor's warm breath as he pulled away just
enough to speak so she still felt the whisps of his moving lips against hers.

"Because I'm going to win." Was his whispered answer. "Because nothing and no-one in that
arena will be able to stop me now that I've found my motivation." He leaned into her for
another chaste kiss before she felt him grin against her lips. "You can't get rid of me that
easily, Rose Tyler."
 Chapter 41

The door softly clicked closed behind Rose. She leaned back against the dark, polished wood,
breathing deeply to calm a heart that couldn't decide if it wanted to thump at a thousand beats
a second or stop entirely. She was back in that God-forsaken blue cocktail dress – Ilaria said
she looked absolutely stunning in it and that it was the perfect attire for their Trials-eve
celebration – but she felt constricted, bound, as if the corset was made of chains and metal
instead of soft fabric and silk.

A single tear she hadn't let slip during dinner finally found its way through her eyelashes and
cut a streamline down her cheek. She didn't move to brush it away. She didn't have the energy
anymore, not after having to sit through the most depressing dinner-party of her entire life.

And she thought the one a couple days ago had been bad. At least this time the Doctor was
allowed to actually sit at the table instead of under it, but that was the only positive the
human girl could find.

She knew this night was coming ever since the Doctor had pointedly turned down her escape
plan. It was inevitable. But that didn't make it any less painful. Knowing the worst was
coming usually only made it that much…worse. There was no relief in knowledge.

Three days had passed since Rose had found herself lying with the Doctor in the soft, cool
grass of the Estate's lawns, relishing in each other's closeness, forgetting the rest of the world
around them. Rose's lips still tingled slightly at the memory of the Doctor's own pressed
against them, as soft and gentle as a summer breeze. They'd shared a few kisses before that
one – victory pecks after saving a planet from imminent destruction, comforting kisses
pressed to each other's cheeks or foreheads or on top of their hair, and, of course, that one in
the auction room of Eyal before the Doctor was forced into chains and dragged away. Then,
the kiss had been strong, passionate, trying to convey every feeling of love and need and
gratitude and apology no words ever could. It was rough in a way, a welcoming bruise that
Rose could still feel for hours later, like a visible mark claiming her as the Doctor's. She'd
never liked that notion, hating the idea of women being degraded to mere possessions for
overly-domineering men, but that one felt different. That one felt right.

Now she detested it. She detested the Doctor and his overly-communicative kisses, his deep,
ancient chocolate eyes, his gravity-defying hair, his gentle touch, his loud, unencumbered
laugh, his way of looking at her like she was the whole world, the whole universe, as brilliant
and bright as every star, as beautiful and complex as every swirling galaxy, as powerful,
strong, and unwavering as every mighty black-hole.

Because soon she wouldn't have it anymore. The Doctor had given her a taste of perfection, a
taste of happiness and rightness only to have it all taken away, like a rug being yanked out
from beneath her feet.

Because tomorrow the Doctor would be entering the Trial's arena. And despite his promises
and uncanny ability to defy death (most of the time), Rose had to swallow a lump of burning
guilt as she found herself doubting he could do it this time.

Snapping back to reality, Rose realized more tears had followed the first's lead. Taking a
deep, shaky breath, she swept the back of her hand over her cheeks, feeling the wetness
spread over her knuckles. She hated crying almost as much as she hated how useless she felt,
but it appeared there was nothing she could do about either to change it. But what she really
needed to do was change! The damn dress was restricting her breathing. It was a symbol of
everything she loathed: bring confined, the Ligtech's, dinner-parties, the Ligtech's, Ilaria, the
Prebassador, the Ligtech's…

She had to get it off.

She had to get it off!

Get it off, get it off, GETITOFF!

Rose felt desperate panic bubbling inside her chest as she launched herself away from the
door, fingers fumbling frantically with the delicate laces on the back of the bodice. No matter
how she contorted her arms or strained her fingers, she couldn't quite make contact with
them. They sat just outside her reach. She was trapped. She couldn't breath. The corset was
only getting tighter. She would die in that dress, in that room, in that monstrous house with
it's equally as monstrous inhabitants.

A knock on the door brought her hysterical mind back. She spun around just as the door was
pushed open. Chirla the servant girl stood in the doorway, key in hand with her other still
resting on the doorknob, but she wasn't alone. The Doctor looked even more tired than he had
at dinner, but he still managed to smile as he muttered a quiet "Thank you" to Chirla and
stepped into Rose's room.

The door closed swiftly behind him, and this time they both heard the deafening click of the
door being locked, as was Chirla's job. After the initial flinch Rose saw from the Doctor, his
calm façade came back as he turned to his companion, only to vanish seconds later at the
desperation he must have seen on her face.

"Help me?" She practically whimpered. She still felt like there was no air reaching her lungs,
but the panic had quelled slightly just at the sight of the Time Lord.

Without a word, the Doctor crossed the short expanse to her, long legs carrying him in only a
few steps. She turned around and pulled her blonde hair, which had been heated into loose
curls, away from her back to expose the criss-crosses of the corset's laces. Understanding her
without having to be told anything, as usual, – that bastard – the Doctor began to pull at the
bindings, nimble fingers moving with the grace of an artist as inch by inch the bodice
released it's death grip. Rose shivered as she felt his cool fingers brush against the now
exposed skin of her back. The corset was loose, but for some reason she still couldn't breath.
This time, she wasn't so worried about it though.

The corset was loose enough now to take off, but neither of them moved. After a moment the
Doctor wrapped his arms around her shoulders, pulling her close. Rose let her head fall back
against his chest, eyes closed and finally dry in relief of being freed from her fabric prison.
The Doctor pressed a kiss to her ear, then another, trailing the gentle touches down her jaw
line. With each kiss Rose felt herself relax a bit more until the tension finally left her
shoulders. She leaned fully against the Doctor, letting his strong arms hold her close in a
tight, comforting, protective embrace.

The Doctor stopped his line of kisses and set his forehead on her shoulder, sighing heavily.
Finally, after a moment of silence, he whispered, "And the award for the Most Awkward
Dinner goes to…"

Rose chuckled softly. "Tell me about it."

"Well, it started off with me wearing a ridiculous all-black suit that made me look like I was
part of the Mafia. We all sat down: you, me, Ilaria, and Jancon. Then the soup came…"

"Okay, okay, I take it back, don't tell me about it. I really don't need to relive it again." They
both laughed, but it was shallow laughter, like neither of them really found the topic
humorous, only how it had been brought up again. A silence descended upon them. Rose
could hear the Doctor's soothing breath against her ear, her own subconsciously slowing to
match it.

The Doctor's embrace was good, but Rose wanted more. She wanted to hold him, too. After
all, he was the one this was all happening to. Surely he needed just as much comforting as
she did, if not more.

Without untangling herself from his arms, Rose turned so she was facing the Time Lord,
wrapping her arms around his chest. She buried her face into his shoulder, breathing in
deeply to catch and savor his scent. She let the breath out in a great slow whoosh and felt
even more tension unravel from her shoulders. In that moment she could have melted into
him entirely until the two were indiscernible from each other, unable to be separated ever
again. That way he wouldn't be able to leave her.

"Please don't go." She voiced her thoughts as a whispered plea.

"Rose –"

"No. Please. I don't want you to."

"You know I don't have a choice." His voice sounded as broken as she felt: obviously
shattered but in complete denial of it, trying to pull off a façade they no longer believed in
enough. "I could be put down for disobedience. You could get hurt even more if they thought
I needed more incentive."

"It wouldn't hurt as much as this."

"I know." The Doctor pressed a kiss to the top of her head before repeating, even more
quietly, "I know." He squeezed her tighter as if trying to hide the way his hands shook against
her back. "I'm so sorry…. I won't leave you. I'll stay as long as I can, as long as –" His voice
trembled with uncertainty. "Only if you want me to stay here, that is."
Instead of answering, Rose pushed herself onto her tiptoes and kissed the Doctor, feeling him
pause with surprise beneath her touch. After a second she pulled away and looked him
straight in the eyes for the first time that night. For once they were open and raw, like a fresh
wound looking for the relief of a gentle hand. "I want you." She answered, leaving off the
here. It didn't matter where 'here' was anymore. She just wanted him. She needed him. She
had to –

The Doctor was kissing her again, cutting off all other thoughts she may have had. It wasn't
tender like the one on the grass, it wasn't desperate like the one in the auction room. It was
impatient, impulsive, like he didn't realize his need to kiss her until it was already happening.
His arms were still wrapped around her, pinning her body to his. Rose felt set free and held
secure all at once, like she could do anything in the universe, conquer every obstacle, if only
she kept clinging tight to this one fixed point in her chaotic world.

The Doctor's arm unraveled themselves from her shoulders. Rose gave a small moan of
protest. His arms were so strong and warm and protective, she didn't want them to leave. But
instead his hands latched onto either side of her hips, pulling her even closer, more intimately.
His tongue traced around the inside of her mouth as her lips parted, brushing over her teeth
before mildly pushing against her own. It was careful, exploratory, but passionate nonetheless
as one of his hands began to move sensually up her side, over her shoulder, until he was
cradling her cheek in the palm of his hand, thumb running over the still-damp tear tracks
from earlier. Retracting slightly, he broke off the kiss, forcing himself to pull away from her,
fighting against the magnetic pull of her lips and touch and closeness.

Rose's eyes were closed, but she blinked them open to see the Doctor staring unseeingly
down as the minimal space between their two bodies. It wasn't hard to guess what he was
thinking. Or maybe it was, but Rose just knew him too well to notice the difference. Either
way, she thought she knew what he was going to say even as he opened him mouth.

"Stop it."

The Doctor looked up at her, surprised and taken aback and…was there a bit of hurt in those
eyes as well? Rose bit her lip and pushed on. "Stop with the apologizing and the worrying. I
don't want to hear you say 'I'm sorry' one more time."

Something sparkled in the Doctor's eye and he gave a single-noted laugh. "Rose…I wasn't…"
He looked down for a second before locking eyes with her again. "I was going to say I love
you."

The hushed words were like a shout, ripping through Rose as she stood there, stunned, trying
to digest what he meant. With a shudder she arched up, capturing the Doctor in another kiss,
this time with hurried, desperate longing. The Doctor replied, both hands moving to cup her
face, the tips of his fingers curling into the roots of Rose's hair. He tasted like Time. Like
cinnamon and ash and the minty, metallic taste of stardust Rose couldn't quite place how she
knew. It made her hungry for more. She was on her tiptoes, her arms around his neck
straining to hold her up despite the height difference between them.

Unexpectedly, the Doctor's hands moved down to her waist and picked her up with the ease
of a dancer doing lifts. Rose made a startled sound against his lips before he felt her smile,
giggling slightly into the kiss as she wrapped her legs around his waist and locked her ankles
together at his back. She was now eye-to-eye with him, but both their eyes were closed,
reveling in the closeness of their bodies as they dove headfirst into another ravenous kiss.

The Doctor moved them forward, body and movements showing no sign that he was carrying
anything heavier than a toy doll. He was so strong, arm muscles taut where they pressed
against her back. He carried her, step by step, over to the bed and, without breaking the kiss
for even a second, bent down to lay her over the plush blankets as gently as if she were a
porcelain doll, one arm running up the length of her spine so he could cradle the back of her
neck.

Rose felt the mattress dip slightly as he leaned over her. His thumb was now brushing over
her collarbone in wide sweeps as his tongue rolled inside her mouth. Rose's body arched up,
desperate for contact with the god above her. She felt more than heard him hum slightly as
she pulled at the hem of the Doctor's shirt, plunging her hands beneath the dark cloth. Rose
could hear the sharp intake of breath from the Time Lord as her palms made contact with the
smooth skin beneath the silky black fabric. She kneaded and groped at the skin beneath her
fingers as the Doctor's lips suddenly left hers and began a trail over her jaw and down her
neck. She gasped as he lightly nipped at her with his teeth before lick and sucking at the spot.
Rose moaned. Yes, another mark. Another imprint on her skin like the bruising burn on her
lips from their kiss in Eyal. Her hands started moving up and up beneath his shirt, the fabric
catching on the crook of her elbow as her fingers finally made it to his chest. That shirt was a
nuisance. That shirt needed to go.

As if sensing the thought, the Doctor stopped his careful ministrations to glance down at his
companion beneath him. The eyes that met his were glittering and dark with lust. Her breath
came shallow and quick and he didn't miss the way it made her chest heave desirably. It was
amazing how aware you could be of someone else's presence; the way they smell, taste, the
heat radiating off their body, the sound of their hastened breath. Rose made a noise of protest
when he didn't keep the kisses going, her body squirming slightly. He ignored the impatient
whine, looking down at Rose, really looking at her, absorbing her existence, mentally
committing every bit of her to paper.

The voice in the back of his head that had been whispering at him all night suddenly reared
its ugly head again. He tried not to show anything on his face as a split-second memory
flashed through his mind of Rose pinned to a bed in a stinking cell, that fetid man leaning
over her so similar to how the Doctor was now. No, not similar. Not similar at all. Rose hadn't
looked at that man like she was looking at him now, hadn't pulled him close, hadn't smiled
into his kiss. She didn't want that, but now she was laying beneath the Doctor with a look of
pure desire and amazement in her eyes even as she frowned at the Doctor's sudden lack of
action.

"What are you thinking?" She suddenly asked, her voice a bit rougher and deeper than usual.

But what if he was wrong? What if she didn't want this? What if she didn't want hi…

"Rose…" He found his mouth saying. "Is this…are you…?"

Rose rolled her eyes with a groan. "Are you seriously asking me if this is okay?" She fixed
him with a glare, to which the Doctor could only reply with one nod of the head. "Doctor.
Take your shirt off and get back to touching me before I have to do it myself."

Something hot coiled deep within the Doctor at her choice of words. He dove forward and
trapped her lips with another hasty kiss before Rose pushed him away, a laugh breaking
through her scolding expression. "Doctor. Shirt. Now." She managed to gasp out between his
quick pecks.

"So demanding." He murmured against her lips, but Rose had already taken matters into her
own hands, quite literally. She bunched up the hem of his shirt and, ignoring the buttons,
pulled it over his head in one quick movement. His hair stood up straight and ruffled from the
action, but Rose wasn't looking at his hair. She'd seen the Doctor bare-chested before, during
harmless swimming trips or quick changes during their journey's, not to mention the other
day after he'd been off running with the trainer. But now she really seemed to be seeing it for
the first time.

He was still so slim and lean, but his abs were hardened with muscles that seemed to flex on
their own with each breath. Without thinking, Rose had reached out and was trailing a finger
down his faintly defined six-pack, marveling at the expanse of hard, pale, flawless skin.
Pushing herself up onto her elbows, Rose leaned forward and licked a wide strip up the
center of his stomach with her tongue, moving from waistband to chest. She didn't know why
she suddenly felt so compelled to do it but was instantly happy she did as she heard the
Doctor gasp above her. His body rocked forward slightly and suddenly she was on her back
again, the Doctor kissing her passionately into the mattress. His hands moved from her face
to her shoulders, down her sides to her waist and then up again to her breasts which, after the
briefest moment of hesitation, he began to gently knead over the fabric of her dress. It was
Rose's turn to gasp, but it got caught in the Doctor's ravenous kiss.

The Doctor stopped long enough to say, "Rose Tyler." He kissed her. "You." He kissed her
again. "Are wearing." Another impatient kiss that left her straining for more. "Far too much."

"Well we must." Rose was cut off by another interrupting kiss. "Fix that immediately."

"Yes…" The Doctor growled as his lips moved to her left ear, teeth nibbling and worrying the
lobe before pulling it into his mouth and sucking hard.

Rose's quick inhale turned into a laugh. She wrapped her arms around his neck, looped her
right leg up and over his waist, and twisted. With a surprised grunt, the Doctor found himself
suddenly on his back, Rose now on top, golden hair rumpled and glowing from the
backlighting of the ceiling lamp. She looked like an angel standing over him, ethereal and
radiant.

To his immense displeasure, however, she didn't stay on top of him for long. He sat up as she
took a few steps backwards, eyes never leaving his as her nimble fingers reached behind her
and finished off the work the Doctor had started on her bodice strings. The Doctor's eyes
flitted over her entire body, drinking in the sight before him as the human reached up and let
one sleeve fall sensually off her shoulder with a slow, calculated shrug. She didn't have to put
on a show for him. She, of course, must know that. Must know she doesn't need the extra act
to make him yearn for her, to make his trousers feel a little too tight. Just her presence did
that enough, just her eyes dark with lust, smile bright with pleasure, just her wanting him.

But he welcomed the show nonetheless as her fingers slid down her own chest, pulling at the
lacing with excruciatingly slow movements, revealing one inch of skin at a time. She must
have seen the eagerness in his eyes because she suddenly laughed, breaking through her
pouting, seductive act. If anything, it made the Doctor's blood pulse even faster. That was his
Rose. His Rose laughing, flashing her brilliant, perfect smile.

At long last, all the unnecessarily complicated restraints on the dress were done, and the
fabric fell like liquid from her frame, pooling on the ground around her ankles. The slip she
wore beneath it left just enough to the imagination, but not much. It was thin and tight
and Rassilon she needed to come back to him right now.

As if sensing the urgency, Rose strode forward, shaking her hair out with her fingers. She
kneeled with one leg on either side of his waist, straddling his lap as she crushed their mouths
together, hot and wet and demanding. The Doctor's shaking fingers found their way to the
hem of the white slip and gently began pulling it off. They had to break the kiss to get the
fabric over Rose's head, but they weren't apart long, clashing back into each other as soon as
the obstruction was out of their way. The Doctor's hands wandered, following a path of their
own design over her skin. The tingles of the light but demanding touches sent shivers up
Rose's spine and made her entire body shudder with anticipation.

Rose realized suddenly that she had no idea what she was doing. Well, that wasn't entirely
true, she knew what she was doing, but what if it wasn't right? The Doctor was an alien, no
matter how much he looked and acted like a human. What if Time Lords did this differently?
What if she needed to do something different for him? Was there something special he
needed her to do, or needed to do to her? So many questions she had, admittedly, asked
herself before, but she'd never been in such a desperate need for the answers as she was now.

However, if the firmness she could feel as she rocked against his lap was anything to go by,
she must be doing something right. The Doctor was sliding his hands along Rose's sides,
gripping her thighs tight as she ground experimentally down against him. Again, the Doctor
had to break the kiss off as his head fell backwards, a groan of pleasure escaping him. And
damn if that wasn't the hottest sound Rose had ever heard.

The Doctor's neck was far too exposed now. Rose took full advantage of this and began
attacking it, licking and sucking and nibbling her way across the skin. The Doctor's hands
were back in her hair – they were everywhere! –the tips of his fingers curled once again into
to roots at the back of her neck. He tugged when Rose bit his neck harder than before, not
hard enough to hurt, just urging her on.

And on Rose went. She took his ear into her mouth just like he had done so recently, rolling
the lobe around her tongue and nipping at the hard cartilage along the upper rim. But it was
her hand the Doctor was really paying attention to as it moved down his chest and to his
waist, a few fingers sneaking between his hipbone and the waistband of his trousers. Without
taking her apt attention away from the ear between her teeth, the fingers crept along the
waistband until they found the button and zipper at the front of the trousers, and they got to
work. Within seconds the button was singlehandedly undone, and the zipper took even less.
Then the hand plunged deep into the now open space, fingers wrapping around his already
hardened member.

The Doctor gasped, drawing in a rattled, hissed breath as the fingers worked their way over
his cock, pumping languidly as Rose pulled it free from his trousers and pants. His hips rolled
forward, desperate for more contact, for more friction. Rose didn't disappoint. She ground
against him again as she rubbed her thumb over the head of his cock. The Doctor hissed
again, but this time it sounded more like a desperate "Rose…" than anything else.

The human looped her arms around the Doctor's neck and kissed him hard enough to push
him back into the mattress. She continued to roll her hips, gasping as a shock like electricity
shot through her body. The Doctor's hands were on her hips, on her thighs, on the curve of
her ass, on her back feeling the smooth bones and muscles of her shoulder blades shift with
the rest of her. They moved over every inch of her, fingers wide and haunting, gliding over
her exposed, fevered skin as if trying to memorize every curve and dip and hollow with the
gentle touches.

There was a pounding in Rose's ears, a searing in her chest, and it took her a moment to
realize she hadn't taken a breath since playing with the Doctor's ear. She pulled away from
the kiss to gasp for air, but there didn't seem to be enough in the room. The Doctor's hand was
now dangerously close to the gap between her thighs, kneading and pinching occasionally,
but now they stopped there movement. Rose opened her eyes and was met by a pair of brown
orbs still dark with desire but now tinted with…was that concern?

"Rose?" His voice was husky and deeper than usual. Rose was still panting for air, heartbeat
pounding in her throat and making it feel clogged and impregnable. "Rose, what's wrong?"

Even though it was rough from excitement and lust, the familiarity of the Doctor's voice
helped calm her frantic heart. She took in a deep breath and was relieved when her lungs
seemed to accept it. The Doctor sat up, face now frowning with concern. He had one arm
wrapped behind her back to keep her from falling off his lap and onto the floor as he came
upright. "Are you okay?" He asked again.

Rose tried to smile and leaned in to kiss his frowning mouth. "No, I'm not." She replied,
speaking into his lips so he could feel her continuing grin. "I'm perfect. I'm just….perfect."

"Yes you are." The Doctor breathed as he kissed her back and, with one arm still wrapped
around her waist, twisted them both over so he was on top once again. He heard Rose draw in
another gasp and assumed it was one of pleasure as he rubbed his hard shaft against her,
feeling the wet heat radiating from the spot between her legs. His thoughts had long ago
stopped being rational; there was no longer enough blood in his head to think straight. The
only thoughts that passed through his misty, stimulated mind was Rose, love, need, Rose,
Rose, heat, need, yes, Rose…

"NO!"

The Doctor felt like he'd just taken a bullet to the head. His entire body jerked backwards
from the power of the shout. The fog vanished from his mind as his blood suddenly ran cold.
Rose was still beneath him, but she had twisted violently onto her side, shielding her face
with her arms and shaking violently.

"Rose?"

She didn't respond. Her body shook even more as she started to sob, crying into her arms.

"Rose."

The Doctor's voice raised, concern coloring it that quickly turned to terror as she continued
shaking and sobbing. Through her gasps he could hear her whispering "No, no, no, please,
stop, no, p-please."

"Rose!"
 Chapter 42

"Rose!"

The Doctor instantly regretted shouting the moment the sound passed his lips. Rose flinched
violently into the mattress, fresh tears rolling down her face. The white pillow beneath her
now had dark splotches where the moisture seeped through the fabric and she clutched at it
almost desperately, as if the soft cushion could somehow protect her from whatever was
attacking. The Doctor hesitated, frozen into inaction. Soft murmurs of "Please" and "No"still
emanated from his companion and each breathy, terrified word was like a sledgehammer to
his hearts.

His hands hovered uselessly a few inches over her skin, fingers shaking almost as much as
she was. He didn't know what to do. What should he do? What was wrong? Everything had
been going so well, and then…and then suddenly…this? "Rose, please –" He went to brush
his fingers comfortingly over her arms, maybe try and move them away so he could see her
face, look into her eyes, figure out –

Rose shrieked. His fingers barely grazed his skin when she jerked away, scrambling
frantically out from under him and up the bed until her back slammed into the headboard.
She pressed herself against it, knees raised to her chest, arms wrapped around them like a
safety belt. "Don't. Please. No." Rose kept begging as her shoulders continued to quake,
making the whole headboard rattle against the wall behind it. "I'm sorry, p-p-please don't! I
didn't mean…I didn't m-mean…"

"Rose, look at me." The Doctor commanded in a low voice. He felt a gut-wrenching guilt at
having to use that voice on her, but it worked. Rose instantly obeyed, head jerking up as her
eyes, wide and pleading, finally met the Doctor's. It was like all the air in the room was
sucked away in an instant. "Oh…shit."

Her eyes were dead. Glazed and dull as if asleep, pupils small despite the low lighting in the
room, never shifting even as the Doctor waved a hand over them, trying to find some sort of
life. Suddenly, as his hand passed over her vision once more, three or four inches from her
nose, Rose's head abruptly snapped to the side. A strangled yelp escaped her lips and she
began to sob weakly again. And then just as suddenly her head flew to the other side and she
cried out again.

"I'm sorry!" She wailed at no one. "I'm sorry, I'm sorry, sorry, sor…sor…p-please, don't. No.
Don't – AH!" For the third time her neck snapped back the other way, cheek practically
slamming into the headboard. Blonde hair swung dramatically into her face from the
movement and stuck to the wet tear tracks now lining her cheeks.

The Doctor scrambled off the bed, the mantra of . .no. running through his head as he came to
kneel beside his companion. Carefully, as if approaching a spooked horse, the Doctor reached
out and took one of Rose's hands in his, gently prying it away from where her fingers were
clenched into the skin below her kneecap. Initially she flinched, trying to jerk away from the
touch as if it physically burned, but the Doctor held on. Eventually she stopped resisting and
allowed her hand to fall limply, submissively, into his command.

"Rose." Despite the absolute terror threatening to physically lodge in his throat, the Doctor
kept his tone steady, unemotional, and clear. "Rose, I need you to listen to me. I need you to
hear my voice." He gave her hand a gentle squeeze, hoping to provide her with some kind of
reassurance that everything was alright with the touch. She started shaking a bit more, but her
head angled towards him and the Doctor knew he had her attention. "Can you hear my voice,
Rose?"

"Y-yes, Master." She responded in barely a whisper.

The Doctor ignored the foul word she called him, pretending she finished the sentence after
the first word alone. "Rose, I need you to follow my voice and listen to it, really listen to it,
okay?"

"Yes, Master." She whimpered again, this time her eyes slipping shut as more tears leaked,
silently, from beneath her lids.

Again, the word was ignored. "Whatever you are seeing, whatever you are experiencing, it's
not real. Do you understand? Listen to my voice, Rose. It's. Not. Real. You are having a
flashback. That's all. You subconscious is pressing against your consciousness, bringing old
memories forward and into what you perceive to be reality. That's all it is, Rose. Memories.
Flashbacks."

"M-m-memories?"

The shaking had subsided slightly, leaving the Doctor enough air to breathe a small sigh of
relief. She was listening to him. She wasn't too lost, not too trapped inside her subconscious
that he couldn't still reach her. He just had to keep drawing her out.

"Yes, Rose, memories. Flashbacks. It's not real. You're safe. Keep listening to my voice, keep
following it. You are safe, you're not there anymore. You're in your bedroom, remember?
Your bedroom in Jancon's estate. Do you remember what your bedroom looks like?"

After a petrified pause that seemed to spread out for an eternity, the Doctor waiting on a
knifes edge to see if Rose would respond, he saw her eyebrows angle down just a fraction of
an inch, as if in thought, before she whispered the single word "Lavender?"

The Doctor practically laughed with joy. Yes, yes the room was lavender. The walls, the
bedspread, the curtains, even the parchment on the little desk off to the side were all the same
light shade of purple that would glisten softly in the sunlight during the day and at night
made the room feel bright and airy.

"Yes, Rose, yes, very good." He kept his voice even just like before. The tone was working
on her, it was keeping her grounded and focused on what he was saying. "You can see the
room, just come back to it. You're safe in this room, remember? You're completely safe, no
one can touch you. You're here with the Doctor –"
Which was apparently the wrong thing to say. Rose instantly tensed again, eyes flying open,
any clarity that could have been there before becoming muddled and cloudy with fear once
again. "N-n-n-n-no, please no. Please don't, Master, please don't take me to him! Please! I
don't want to….I can't…Don't let him see me like this, please…" The begging soon gave way
to sobbing as Rose buried her face into her knees. She was shaking so hard it was like she
was imitating the TARDIS in flight. The Doctor – well, the Doctor did nothing. He couldn't
do anything. He was too stunned by that sudden outburst and his hearts suddenly ached so
badly they threatened to crush his lungs and collapse his entire chest. That was what she was
worried about? That was what she was thinking? She didn't want him to see her…weak?

He grabbed up her hand once more, determination flashing across his face as he pressed a
quick kiss to the back of the hand before continuing. "Rose, are you still listening to me?"

Rose's head lifted off her knees, eyes open and dripping. "Yes, Master."

"Good. Keep listening to me. It's alright, the Doctor can't see you, I'm not going to make you
go to him. Come to me instead. Follow my voice. I want you to latch on and don't let go until
you feel safe and warm again. Do you understand? Keep following my voice, keep coming
back to me. Have I led you astray so far?"

"N-no." The Doctor could have whooped with joy at the lack of 'Master' at the end of that
sentence.

"That's right. Just keep following me, I'm going to lead you to a nice, warm bed and a nice,
warm, full stomach." Because he knew how irresistible those two single concepts could be
when stuck where Rose was now. If she was back in Eyal – which it seemed very likely was
the case – it would have been weeks since laying on anything that could even partially be
considered warm or comfortable, and anything besides the promise of more cold, lumpy,
watery potato soup would have made anyone's mouths water with desire. And it seemed to be
working. Rose was shaking less. Tears had stopped falling from her eyes, which were starting
to look bright and aware again, like the sun pressing its way against the slowly yielding
clouds.

"There we go," He kept saying as the clouds continued to part. "That's it, keep following my
voice. That's it Rose, you're doing such an incredible job!"

With a great gasp, Rose suddenly jerked back to life, the cloudiness in her eyes completely
vanishing as she looked around in mild confusion, as if she'd just woken up from an
impromptu nap. Finally, her eyes snapped around to the Doctor, who was still kneeling beside
the bed, holding her hand. He smiled at her, a smile wide and bright with unsuppressed relief.
"Hello." He greeted her cheerfully.

It looked for a moment like Rose was going to respond. Her mouth opened but then suddenly
clamped closed, jaw clacking as her teeth snapped together. Her skin took on a sickly, green
tint and her hand flew to her mouth.

"Oh, no…"
The Doctor sprang into action. He lifted her up, one arm beneath her knees, the other behind
her back, and carried her swiftly into the adjoining bathroom, lowering her in front of the
toilet just in time. Her body heaved as she was suddenly sick, spewing the remains of their
dinner into the toilet bowl. Her fingers were white where they clutched the edge of the toilet.
The Doctor simply sat behind her, holding her hair back with one hand while his other traced
comforting circles along her back.

"That's it, you're alright," He kept saying in the same voice as before until Rose was finally
finished. She sagged sideways against him, energy completely spent as the Doctor reached
forward to flush the toilet. He handed her a bunched-up pile of toilet paper for her to wipe her
mouth with and she took it with a mutter of gratitude.

When he was sure she could sit upright without him again, the Doctor stood and made his
way to the sink, filling up a glass of water. She took it without a word, taking a sip and
quickly swishing the contents around in her mouth before spitting it back into the toilet.
"Thank you." She managed to gasp before taking another sip, this time allowing the cool,
soothing water to run down her throat.

The Doctor collapsed down beside her, letting his back rest against the cold, hard edge of the
bathtub. "Feeling better?" He asked carefully.

Rose thought as she swirled the remaining water around in the glass before downing it and
setting the cup aside. "Yes…" She finally said slowly, almost as if she wanted to attach a
question mark to the end of it. "What – what was that?"

Wrapping one arm around her shoulders, the Doctor pulled Rose closer to him. Her question
had been laced with a soft quiver, as if she were about to start crying again and was terrified
because she couldn't understand why. The Doctor could understand that. The Doctor had
caused that.

"It was just a flashback," He tried to reassure her. "You're okay now, you're safe here."

"No," Rose pushed herself away from the Doctor insistently so she could look at him. Her
brow was teased with thought and unease. "No, it wasn't. It couldn't have been a flashback.
That…that never happened to me. How could I be having a flashback about something that
never happened?"

The Doctor didn't respond. He just stared into her eyes sadly, as if trying to see straight
through her worried brown orbs into the mind within.

"Doctor, am I…am I hallucinating?"

Her voice was once again tinged with something akin to fear at the idea that her mind could
be playing such cruel tricks on her. The Doctor wanted to take her back into his arms, but he
feared what her reaction would be. She'd already pushed him away twice, and it was only
going to get worse. Instead, he fix her with another sad look, head tilted slightly to the side.

"No, Rose, you're not hallucinating. I wish you were."

"I don't understand." Rose suddenly stood up, stumbling slightly as a small wave of nausea
washed over her again from the sudden movement. The Doctor forced himself to stand too
and reached forward as if to steady her, but she shook her head to stop him. "It had to be.
That – that- that never happened to me!" She struggled to find the right word before giving
up. "I can't have memories of something that never happened!" Rose kept repeating.

"Unless you forgot." The Doctor responded in a quiet voice he was surprised Rose could hear
over the panic and confusing rushing through her ears.

"What do you mean, 'forgot'? How does someone….forget something like – like that."

She was shaking again, arms clamped around her upper body, nails digging into the skin
above her elbows just like before. The Doctor worried she would stress herself out into
another flashback. She was showing all the same signs as before.

He approached her cautiously, hands braced in front of him with his eyebrows slightly raised
in his usual 'tread carefully!' look. "Rose, please, you need to calm –"

"No!" She cried, turning on him. "Something's happening to me. Something you're not telling
me. I know!"

"Rose –"

"I see the way you look at me!" She shouted over him. "Like I'm going to break any moment.
And I…and I…feel like I'm breaking!" Her voice hitched over the last word. "Something's
wrong with me –"

"There's nothing wrong with you, I –"

"TELL ME WHAT'S WRONG!"

"IT'S MY FAULT!"

Silence fell over the bathroom, but not before those three words continued to echo off the
cold ceramic furnishings like a ghost's cry. Even the Doctor looked stunned by his own
outburst, face white as a sheet. Rose just stared at him, taking in the way his shoulders
suddenly slouched in defeat, head tilting down in shame, hands falling behind his back in a
grotesquely submissive pose he'd been conditioned into. She didn't like him looking like that.
She was angry, yes. No, she wasn't angry. She was scared. There had been a very fine line
between the two just a second ago, but looking at the Doctor now she would take the anger
over the fear she now felt any day. There was nothing comforting about the way he now
stood.

"Doctor…" She started quietly, slowly rolling the name off her tongue. "What is happening to
me?"

He looked up for a moment before his eyes fell back to his feet, a sigh rocking through his
entire body.
"Your…your memories," He struggled to figure out where to start. "Your memories are being
suppressed."

Rose just stared. "What do you mean, suppressed?"

He glanced up at her again like a puppy looking for forgiveness when he knew he did
something wrong. "I did something terrible." He practically whispered. "I thought I was
doing the right thing at the time, but – but...It became too much. I wasn't thorough enough,
strong enough. I'm so, so sorry."

"Tell me."

"Back before Eyal, back in the outpost with the Drephesh, you were…attacked. It was…you
were…" He struggle to decide if he should say it, but Rose beat him there.

"Raped."

The word was singular, emotionless, a fact. The Doctor could see the sudden realization flash
across Rose's eyes, but it was dulled as if she were talking about someone else, not herself.
Like she knew it was true, but couldn't quite accept it as real.

The Doctor just nodded, glad he didn't have to say it and disgusted by how much of a coward
he truly was. "You were having a nightmare after." He continued quietly. "I couldn't…I
couldn't just sit there and watch you suffer even more from your own subconscious, so I went
into you mind, hoping to just quell that one memory enough to allow you a peaceful sleep.
But I couldn't control it; I didn't think it through far enough. I was quick and careless. I left
the door open as I left and your memories, slowly, began to follow. At first it was just the
incident, but then…"

"I kept forgetting."

Her voice was still almost dead. Again, all the Doctor could do was nod. "But a door once
opened can be passed through in either direction. While your memories left your conscious,
they became part of your subconscious, presenting themselves like nightmares or
hallucinations."

Rose's breath hitched slightly with an oncoming cry. Nightmares. Hallucinations. Flashbacks.
They had all been flashbacks, each brief flash of painful thoughts, each sudden scenario that
sometimes popped up at random moments during the day, each terror-evoking nightmare
she'd attributed to her mind simply reacting to the fact that she'd been sold into slavery and
suffered greatly at the hands of Eyal. Never had she imagined any of those could be real.
Never did she wish any of those could be real…

But they were. And for some reason the only thought that could pass through her buzzing,
whirling, banging mind was, "You messed with my head."

She looked up from where she had been staring absentmindedly at her feet and suddenly felt
intense anger course through her entire body. She glared daggers at the man in front of her,
who looked as pained and broken as she felt but didn't deserve her sympathies. Her lips
suddenly curled back in a snarl. "You messed with my head!" Then suddenly she launched
herself at him, catching both herself and the Time Lord by surprise. "You messed with my
head! You had no right! You have NO right!"

Her fists were slamming into the Doctor's chest, sending him stumbling backwards partially
from the force and partially from the surprise. His lower back hit the edge of the sink and he
had to arch his spine as Rose continued to pummel him, fists striking his chest, arms,
shoulders, until suddenly there was no strength behind the hits and her hands, instead,
gripped tightly to his upper arms as if that were the only thing holding her up anymore. The
Doctor was braced backwards against the sink, staring down at his companion as more angry,
scared, betrayed tears coursed down her cheeks. Unexpectedly, she collapsed against him,
burying her face into his bare chest and cried. Her hands beat at him halfheartedly again
before they finally gave up. Trusting it was as safe as it was going to get, the Doctor warily
removed his hands from the sink's edge and wrapped his arms around the human, holding her
close and letting her tears wet his skin. She continued muttering those four words. "You had
no right." But now they sounded more like a subconscious act than anything with actual
venom, gasped between desperate sobs for breath.

"I know. I know." Was all he could say, apart from, "I'm so sorry. Nak'tea. Nak'tea." He knew
she couldn't understand the Gallifreyan word, but it was all he could say. There was no word
in her language that could communicate the depths of agony and apology he felt. There was
nothing else.

Suddenly Rose pushed herself away from the hearts seared as he thought she was leaving,
thought she was finally done with his failings and absolute uselessness. She wiped the tears
from her face and stood before him, squaring her shoulders and announcing forcefully, "Fix
it."

The Doctor just stared at her for a moment, confused. And then he realized what she was
asking. His eyes widened and he began to shake his head. "Rose, are you sure? That could –"

"Please." The one word fell like a weight between them. "I need it fixed. I need my memories
back. I can't keep letting them slip away, or, or come back to bite me in the ass later. If you
enter that arena tomorrow and don't come back,"

"Rose, don't say that,"

"And don't come back, I need this fixed. I can't keep living like this. I need...I need..." She
choked down a sob. "I need to remember you." The Doctor felt himself cringe at that. "I can't
risk forgetting everything."

The Doctor stepped forward, placing his hands on either side of her shoulders, silently
grateful she didn't flinch or jerk or shrug away from the touch. "It's not going to be pleasant."
He said quietly. "It's not going to be smooth or easy. If I go in and open your subconscious,
everything will come searing back at the same instant. You will remember it all, every
moment in one singular time. There's no way to slow it down. I can't control the floodgates
like that, not this time."
"I understand." Rose said, tilting her chin up to try and look brave. The Doctor almost smiled.
What was he saying, trying to look brave? She was brave. She was always brave. Braver than
he was, at any rate, and here was the plain evidence of it.

After all this, the only thing he could do now was nod and do as she asked. It was the least he
could do after everything he'd put her through, despite how much he hated it. So he stepped
forward, fingers raised and eyes asking for permission. She gave a short nod in response and
closed her eyes. The Doctor pressed the pads of his fingers against Rose's temple, and faded
in.

Moments passed; silent, tense moments in which the two inhabitants of the bathroom simply
breathed and waited, one's face screwed up with concentration, the other's forcefully blank
and wet from old tears. Waiting, just waiting, until.

Rose whimpered. Her stoic face crumpled. Tears ran anew. Her composure cracked. She let
out a strangled sob. Followed by another. And suddenly it was all she could do. Tears were
running down the Doctor's face as well, but he kept his eyes closed, still working, still
concentrating despite the desperate sounds of pain and fear and anxiety his companion was
making. If anything, he clutched tighter to her mind, desperate to finish and get this over
with. Memories flowed over him with all the force of a flashflood, memories that weren't his
own but tore at his hearts all the same as they crashed and crushed and ripped and flooded the
girl's conscious mind. Finally the last trickle of suppressed memories flowed through the
fissure and it was over. He released his hold, but didn't back away. Instead, his arms instantly
folded around his Rose, pulling her close. She didn't resist. They cried for each other until
their legs became weak and they both crumpled gracelessly to the ground, never letting each
other go. The Doctor ran his hands over Rose's back, up through her hair, swirling comforting
circles against her skin in such an innocent way compared to only half an hour earlier when
they were both caught in the throes of passion and desire.

They sat like that for an eternity, until the Doctor's legs fell asleep and Rose quickly
followed, exhausting herself from the crying and remembering. The Doctor remained there
for a few minutes more, just holding her, until the cold of the bathroom reminded him that
they were both still completely naked and Rose, being human, was probably freezing. As
carefully as one dealing with a butterfly, the Doctor lifted his companion up and carried her
back into the warm bedroom, placing her gently on the bed and pulling the duvet up and
under her chin. He ran one hand along her cheek, brushing a stray strand of blonde hair back
behind her ear. He could have stayed there for an eternity more, just staring, just watching his
Rose as she slept peacefully. How many peaceful sleeps would be in her future? How many
more nights could she hold at bay the memories now painfully clear and present? He didn't
regret doing what she wanted, doing what was right and what he should have done weeks
ago, but he couldn't stop the guilt that made him feel physically ill.

After pressing a chaste kiss to her forehead, the Doctor forced himself to rise. She wouldn't
want him here. She wouldn't want him ever again. He didn't let the way she held him tight a
few minutes ago fool him, didn't think anything of how she fell asleep in his arms, gripping
him tight like he was the only life-vest in a wide, brutal, violent ocean. She would hate him
and she had every right to. In a way, he was happy. If she hated him, she wouldn't miss him.
If he died tomorrow or the next day or the day after that or however long the Trials went on
for, it would be alright. She would hate him, for good reason, and she would be able to get
back to her normal life back on earth with her mother and boyfriend and her safe, harmless
home.

He stood and took a step away, only to feel something grab his wrist. He looked down and
followed the small hand up an arm to a shoulder and then to a face with eyes half-lidded with
sleep but still pleading and questioning.

"Stay?" Was the single, solitary word she said. She would never know everything that one
word meant to him, what it made him feel inside, how it made his hearts swell and breath
hitch and lips twitch into a relieved smile.

"Of course." He whispered back. She shuffled over, giving the Doctor space to crawl beneath
the blankets beside her. She snuggled closer, pressing herself against the Doctor so her head
rested against his shoulder. He wrapped his arms around her once again and squeezed,
reassuring her he was there and nothing would happen. No nightmares. No Rat-Face. No
masters or trainers or prebassadors could harm her. He felt her body slowly relax, the muscles
in her back and shoulders slowly unclench and release their tension.

Silence ticked on, perfect and warm and comfortable.

"I'm sorry." Rose suddenly whispered into his chest.

"Don't you dare." Was the Doctor's instant response. He pulled her closer, breathing deeply.
"Don't you bloody dare."

The Doctor could almost convince himself her could feel Rose shake with a small laugh at
that, but it was quickly covered by a yawn. She nestled closer to him. "But I am." Was her
tired response. She sounded like she was already asleep. "And I still love you." She added as
if in an afterthought.

The Doctor went to respond, to tell her he loved her and always had and always would. But
she was already gone, fast asleep. The words were left unsaid.

The next morning, the door SLAMMED open. Rose and the Doctor both jumped as if
shocked, bolting upright in bed, still holding each other close as they had the whole night.
Sleep blinded them, as did the light so cruelly turned on with no warning. The Doctor raised
a hand to shield his eyes, the other to shield Rose from whatever had caused the sound.

"THERE you are!" Growled a familiar, angry voice. Without forewarning, something grabbed
hold of the Doctor's arms and dragged him out of the bed. He gave a strangled shout of
surprise, still half asleep and completely confused by the chaos going on around him. "The
ship leaves in ten minutes!" The voice roared again and he finally was able to recognize it as
Jancon's. "If you're not on it I forfeit the Trail! Get him out of here!"

More hands grabbed him, dragging him backwards towards the door, away from Rose. She,
too, finally seemed to realize what was happening. She launched herself forward, trying to
reach him, but another guard held her back, keeping her on her bed while the Doctor was
pulled from the room. He tried to resist, but he was too slow to bring his limbs into action.
The guard's hands were too strong. He was out the door before a proper fight could even be
put forth.

"No, let me say goodbye!" He heard the desperate cry from the room. It stabbed his hearts,
cleaving them in two. "Let me say goodbye! Please! Let me say goodbye! Doct –"

The door slammed shut behind the Prebassador, cutting off girl's protests, shutting out her
voice, silencing what could have been the last words the Doctor ever heard her say.
 Chapter 43
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The Doctor did not like his prospects.

For once he was thankful for the restraints keeping him pinned to his seat, because if he
couldn't move then neither could the ten other lethal, dangerous, terrifying looking
competitors sitting around him. They had all been brought into the hull of the plane, one by
one as they were picked up, and clamped down into the thick metal flight chairs. No one
spoke out loud, but the Doctor could practically hear several violent and threatening
conversations going on between the other competitors through eye contact and body language
alone. The Doctor tried to stay out of it all together, schooling his face into an emotionless
mask even as the gigantic mountain of an alien sitting across the way leered and glared at
him. His arms, only visible from the elbows down through the same thermal black shirt they
were all wearing, were about the size of Bantha trunks and seemed to be made entirely out of
cracked rock.

The door to the hull opened suddenly and the last competitor was steered in. She strutted
down the aisle as if she were competing in the Miss Universe Pageant, graceful and confident
in the way only a true killer could be in her natural element, and came to sit in the only seat
left available; right on the Doctor's left-hand side. She leaned into him for a moment while
one of the attendants fixed her ankles and shoulders into the restraints, sniffing the air around
him.

"Your blood smells sweet," She drawled as she flashed him a petrifying smile. Her teeth were
long, thin, and deathly sharp. Small points jutted out like tiny spears on the undersides, all the
better for slashing and shreading. "I look forward to ripping into your throat and tasting it
myself."

The Doctor swallowed down the lump in his throat. "Can't wait." Was his only response.

"Competitors are not to speak with each other prior to the Trials." A stern voice snapped
through the air. The vampire-girl sat back in her seat with a satisfied smirk and winked at
Rocky across the way. He returned her knowing simper.

Okay, Rocky and Vampire are allies. Great. The Doctor thought to himself. That was one
alliance he was not looking forward to being formed. Both looked far too much like fighters,
not flighters. Those were the two types of competitors in the Trials; those who made it their
main goal to get to the finish line first, and those who would rather win by being the last
competitor standing, taking far too much joy in the act of killing off the other contestants.

The woman who spoke earlier moved up the center of the aisle, checking over the
participants like a butcher surveying her livestock. She had the tan skin, orange eyes, and
ridged nose of a Drepheshie and the Doctor couldn't help but glare at her reproachfully. This
species was definitely going on the naughty list!
"Alright, now that we're all here, we will be moving to the Trials' sight. Approximate arrival
will be in one hour. When we land, you will each be escorted out individually to be pegged.
The Trial begins at the gunshot, at which time the first peg will be discharged. Each release
following will be at forty-five second intervals, order pending on the lottery that will be held
in a moment. Needless to say, the competitor with the lowest lottery number will be released
first, and so on. After that…well, I'm sure you all understand the rules and objective. There
will be no conversation between contestants until after the first gunshot. And remember, this
is live and televised to our esteemed viewers and sponsors, so please be sure to make each
death as entertaining and graphic as possible. Thank you."

The woman quickly left after that as another attendant stepped forward, this time holding a
black bag with a narrow opening at the top. "Each competitor will reach in and withdraw one
number. If you are caught attempting to manipulate the order of the lottery, you will be
punished and entered into the Trial with the disadvantage, regardless. Let's all play fairly,
now."

This was the part the Doctor worried about the most, funnily enough. Everything else in the
Trials depended on his own abilities and skills, and therefore he had at least a slight extent of
control over what happened. This, however, was pure luck and chance. Each competitor was
to draw out a number, the numbers dictating the order they would be released into the Trial.
The lower numbers were given a head start, while the unlucky soul who pulled out the
twelfth number would have to wait a painstaking whole nine minutes before being set to go.
And in the Trials, even nine minutes could mean the difference between victory and death.

The attendant was now moving towards the competitors, offering the bag to the first in the
row. He was a young, mischievous looking alien with unnaturally red hair and cloudy yellow
eyes that looked like they could read your entire life's story with one glance. He reached into
the bag and a moment later pulled out a thin piece of paper. The attendant read out loud,
"Two."

The Doctor could practically feel everyone else in the room grow tense as the alien's eyes
twinkled with pleasure. The lottery started off extremely low, and now one of the best
numbers was out of the mix.

The attendant moved to the next one, another male who had four arms, only two of which
were actually somewhat restrained. He uncrossed the other two and reached into the bag,
producing his own number. "Five."

Not bad, but not good either. But from the way the alien had been scowling the whole trip, it
didn't look like there was anything in the universe that would satisfy him.

The next competitor to reach in pulled out the number "Eleven". The girl – clearly an Aonian
– kept her face impressively blank and eyes straight-ahead as if pulling the second worst
number didn't faze her at all, but her skin suddenly turned a telling sickly green color, the
freckled spots along her neck and collar bone turning white.

Her neighbor reached one scaly, clawed hand into the bag and, after a moment of shuffling,
retracted it with the number "Nine" clutched between his talons. He wasn't as good at
schooling his disappointed features.
And so it went on. The next one – a Zygon, of all things! – pulled out a "Four", while the
male next to him pulled out the devastating, earth-shattering number "Twelve". The Zygon
turned to smirk as well as a Zygon could at his neighbor, thinking he was 'hot stuff' (as Rose
sometimes said). That was, until the Sontaran next in line pulled out the number "One."

"HA! In your faces, alien scum!" The Sontaran cheered. "You will all be destroyed and
eradicated by the might of the great Sontaran race! I look forward to demolishing you all in
the glory of battle!"

"Silence." The attendant ordered and the Sontaran quickly reigned himself back in. The
Doctor almost laughed. Who on Skaro would purchase a Sontaran and a Zygon as their
competitors?

Now thoroughly demoralized following the loss of the two lowest numbers, the Sinjuray
beside him lowered her paw into the bag, slanted, cat-like eyes burrowing a hole in the
ground. Her tail flicked nervously behind her, but it was the only sign of anxiety she allowed
herself to show as the attendant read out the number "Six."

Only four more left: a three, seven, eight, and ten. The attendant now approached Rocky,
who's arm barely fit into the bag enough to pull out the number "Seven". He flexed his stone-
like muscles angrily as the attendant pushed the bag towards Miss Vampire beside the Doctor.
Without taking her dark and yet somehow seductive eyes off the attendant – who wavers
slightly and looked as if he were bordering on apprehensive – the vampire reached in and
produced an "Eight."

Two more left. One great, one not so great. The attendant moved to the only competitor left
besides the Doctor; a small female with a pointed face and quick, sharp eyes. Whatever she
didn't pull out, the Doctor, who was of course last to draw, would have no choice but to take.
All the molecules in the room seemed to be frozen at that moment, and even the engine of the
plane seemed to be silenced, as the female reached her hand into the bag, took a deep,
uncertain breath, and pulled out one of the two pieces of paper left.

The attendant took the paper and, unfolding it, read out, "Three."

The Doctor let his head collide with the back of his chair. Ten. He was number ten. He would
have to wait a whole seven and a half minutes before being released. Anything could happen
in those seven and a half minutes. He had saved entire universes in less time than that. He
would have time stop a political scandal (well, alright, most likely start it first), raise a nest of
elehumps, finish that football match with the prince of Helveena VI, and meet up with Queen
Elizabeth for tea and cakes before his peg would be released.

Jancon was not going to be pleased with this. But his owner had to know that he had no
control over it! There was no way he could possibly be upset. No way he would possibly hurt
Rose over it.

No. No. We're not thinking about that. The Doctor quickly reminded himself. He had banned
himself from thinking about his companion, at least until the Trial was over. If he ever
wanted to get back to her – and not in a body bag – he couldn't afford to be distracted; and
everything about his perfect human was distracting, from the way she felt last night, grinding
up against him, hands and lips everywhere, to the way she cried with anger and fear against
his chest as she demanded her own worst memories be returned to her. Even now, the Doctor
wasn't sure if he'd done the right thing telling her about the mental block, but she had right to
know, the right to make her own decisions over her memories. He just had to hope she was
strong enough to cope through them without him.

Of course she is, the Doctor reprimanded himself with a sharp mental slap. And then he
pushed all thoughts of her out of his mind, focusing instead on the new attendant making her
way between the competitors in the order of their numbering. As she got closer, the Doctor
was able to see into the box she was carrying. There were a dozen tracker chips set up inside
tag-guns. The Doctor's blood ran cold. He knew this was going to happen, but it still made
him feel physically ill that his own deadly creation was about to be injected into his body.
Jancon had promised not to use the virus on his own competitor, but that didn't make the
Doctor feel any safer. He, of all people, knew his master's erratically swinging moods more
than anyone.

The attendant finally stopped in front of him. "Lean your head forward, please." She
instructed, stonily. Knowing he had no choice in the matter, the Doctor bent his head down,
exposing the back of his neck. He tensed slightly as the nuzzle of the tag-gun pressed against
the base of his spine and heard the whoosh of a hydraulic pump shooting the tag deep within
his skin. He grit his teeth sharply at the momentary pain. A strip of gauze was brushed
carelessly over the injection point to wipe off any excess blood and the skin-weave on the
gun's tip helped knit the tissues back together instantly.

"T-minus thirty minutes to arrival." The first women suddenly spoke up again before
complete silence fell over the hull, the attendants and staff quickly exiting and leaving the
competitors to their own company.

The creak of the door opening was followed almost immediately by the piercing sound of
shattering glass. Rose jumped backwards as the container splintered into a hundred pieces at
her feet, pressing back against the wall as her eyes darted from the mess of glass and cream
on the floor to the door leading into her bedroom.

"Miss?" A voice called from the other side, curious and concerned, but Rose was already on
her knees, mindful of the tiny glass shards as she began scooping the pieces into her hands.
She could hear soft footsteps coming closer to the bathroom door. "Miss Rose, are you
alright?"

There was a soft rap on the door and Rose knew she should answer, but whatever words she
meant to say got caught somewhere between her lungs and her tongue. She made a strangled
sound of affirmation that must not have sounded convincing at all as the door to the bathroom
swung slowly open.

"Oh, Miss Rose, what happened?" Chirla quickly swooped into the room, kneeling down
besides the human and taking her shaking hand. One of the sharp shards must have pressed
too far against her skin as there was a trickle of blood pooling in her palm, staining the glass.
"I…You surprised me. I dropped the container. I'm sorry." The last part was added in a
whisper. Chirla carefully plucked all the pieces of glass from Rose's hand and, after dropping
them back in the pile on the ground, used the edge of her apron to sweep any extra bits laying
nearby into the mound.

"Enough of that, no need to apologize. Can you stand?" Rose nodded as she rolled herself to
her feet, careful not to move from the small patch of tile she knew was safe. "Come on, let's
get that cleaned up." Chirla said cheerfully as she took Rose's bloody hand and led her around
the glass pile towards the sink. Rose followed obediently, letting the servant girl run her hand
under the cool water and watching the little swirls of pink liquid vanish down the drain.
Determined not to be useless, Rose reached for a wad of toilet paper and pressed it against
her cleaned palm to dry and stem the flow of more blood. It was a shallow cut, but thin
tendrils of red kept rising to the surface as if desperate to escape the confines of her skin.

"Thank you." She managed a small smile before turning back to the pile and bending down to
continue scooping it up.

Chirla caught her below the elbow before her knees could touch the ground, however, and
steered her instead out of the bathroom and towards the large lavender bed in her room.
"Don't worry about that anymore, Miss, I'll have someone come up here and take care of it
later. You just sit down."

Rose didn't object as Chirla more or less pushed her backwards onto the bed, forcing her to
sit still. But her mind was racing in circles, frantic and disheveled as it tried desperately to
make sense of what happened last night and the chaos that ensued that morning. It had only
been about an hour since the Doctor had been so rudely ripped from her side and dragged off
to his possible execution. Rose had spent the majority of the hour since staring at the door in
an undignified stupor, as if expecting the Time Lord to come waltzing back in and announce
that he'd single-handedly escaped from beneath the noses Jancon, Ilaria, the entire Trials
staff, and all of Drephesh using only an apple and soup spoon. She would hit him for
worrying her like that and hug him so he could never leave again. But he never came. And he
would likely never come again.

The soft tinkle of glass brought Rose back to reality. Her eyes shifted back towards the
bathroom and realized Chirla was in there cleaning up her mess. She went to stand but
realized halfway through the motion that she really didn't want to.

"You don't have to do that." She called instead. "I made the mess, I can take care of it."

"Don't you even think on it, Miss Rose." Came Chirla's quick response. A moment later she
reappeared in the doorway, wiping her hands on her apron. "I think you've had quite enough
to worry about, don't you?"

Rose tried to look grateful but had the sneaking suspicious it came out as more of a grimace
than anything else. Chirla set herself down on the bed beside the human and gently ran a
hand through Rose's hair and down her neck like one might stroke a scared animal. Or, no –
Rose thought as she felt her eyes close and her shoulders lose some of their tension as Chirla
continued to pet her hair – more like a mother soothing her child after a nightmare. A pang of
homesickness made Rose feel almost physically ill. Never had she wanted to go home, back
to boring old Earth in boring old twenty-first century with her boring yet frenzied mum, more
than she did now. She was just so alone…

"I'm so sorry about your mate," Chirla was saying, and Rose had to force herself to pay
attention again. "He seemed like a nice bloke for the time I knew him. It's not fair, frankly,
what they're making him do, or making you go through."

This time, Rose was able to smile. "No, it's not, is it?" She managed a little laugh that was
very short-lived.

Chirla's lips slanted in an apologetic look. "I'm sorry to be the one to tell you this, but the
Prebassador expects you in the main lounge in ten minutes. The Trial is about to start and he
wishes you to be there."

"What, so I can watch the man I love be killed?"

"Or watch him survive." Chirla dared a hopeful smile. "He's a fighter, your mate, and I doubt
he ever goes down easily without a fight." This did earn another small laugh from Rose.
"Besides, the only thing I can think of as being worse than watching would be to seclude
yourself up here and have no idea what may be happening. At least if you attend you can
watch over him. He may not be entirely aware of it himself, but somehow he may be able to
feel you with him anyway."

Rose knew that last bit was complete bull, but everything else the servant girl said made
sense. There was no use in trapping herself in her room and ignoring what would still be
going on anyway, even without her acknowledgement. She gave a short nod and a smile to let
Chirla know she would be okay. The Aonian looked relieved.

"You can do this, Miss Rose. You are so much stronger than they." Rose didn't want to tell
her just how weak she really felt. Still reveling in the discoveries of last night, Rose felt about
as strong as tissue paper trying to hold up a boulder.

"Well," She glanced down at the thin silk robe she had wrapped around her otherwise naked
body. "I guess I should get dressed…"

Chirla laughed. "Yes, that may be wise. Perhaps you can find something to match this." From
within her apron pocket she withdrew a woven wire chain. Gems had been twisted into the
thin links; both big and small, all the same semi-transparent white that seemed to reflect
every color around them. Finding something to match the stones would not be a challenge.

"Your mate left it in my care last night to give to you after he left." Chirla explained. "I don't
understand its significance, but he said you would figure it out." She raised the ends and
signaled for Rose to turn around. The gems felt surprisingly warm against her skin as Chirla
draped the necklace around her neck, fastening the clasps behind her. The lowest gem fell
elegantly and tastefully above the crease in her breasts. Rose fingered the stones lovingly,
somehow knowing that not long ago the Doctor had been twisting them into place on his
own, carefully measuring out the perfect design with his tongue clasped thoughtfully between
his teeth.
 Warmth rushed through her like memories of laughter and adventure and sipping hot
chocolate on a cold, snowy medieval day. She felt the tingle of his hand grasping hers, of his
voice in her ears, of the way their bodies pressed together for warmth as they found
themselves trapped within the catacombs of St. Stephen's Cathedral because the Doctor was
so certain that last time he went left to get out, and of course there could be no way the
catacombs had been changed in the last two hundred years.

And as quickly as it came, the flash of memory vanished. But the warmth it brought
remained, giving Rose just enough fire to stand up and face her heinous masters.

Chapter End Notes

Recap of the Competitors:

1 – Sontaran

2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes

3 – Small female with sharp eyes

4 – Zygon

5 – Male with four-arms

6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)

7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin

8 – Vampire-like female

9 – Male with scales, talon like hands

10 – The Doctor!

11 – Female Aonian

12 – Tentacles
 Chapter 44
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The pegging only took a moment and was, for all intents and purposes, completely painless,
but the Doctor held his breath the entire time none-the-less. He didn't like feeling trapped and
vulnerable and that's exactly what the pegging was supposed to make you feel.

They led him down the aisle of the plane's hull passed the last two competitors. The Aonian
watched him go with a blank, expressionless face, which had turned an inky black to match
the rest of her uniform so the whites of her eyes shinned brilliantly bright. Number Twelve
didn't even look up. That one spot on the floor must have been incredibly interesting, because
he'd been staring at it unwaveringly since the lottery ended.

The Doctor was ushered into a circular lift along with two attendants. The grip they kept on
his shoulders was light rather than constricting as he'd expected; there wasn't much of
anywhere to go if he tried to run, anyway. The lift went straight down for only a few seconds
before shuddering to a halt. The Doctor turn towards the door, expecting it to open again and
give him his first view of the Trials arena, but instead there was the sound of metal grinding
against metal and the floor began to shift. The steel plate retracted into the walls, revealing a
circular patch of dirt beneath. Not expecting this at all, the Doctor had to perform a little leap
onto the dirt to avoid losing his footing entirely. The two attendants stepped off as
thoughtlessly and easily as one would from an elevator.

One attendant, a large, muscular Drephesh, kept his hold on the Doctor - which was much
firmer now - while the other removed from a rack on the wall a long iron rod with a circular
cuff attached to it on a short chain. The Doctor watched as she placed the tip of the rod,
which much have been about a meter and a half long, to the dirt at the center of their little
circle. An instrument hanging from the top of the lift compartment which the Doctor hadn't
noticed before came down and attached itself to the top of the rod, drilling it into the hard
ground with a whirl of mechanics. Soon, only a few inches of the rod was visible, including
the chain and manacle.

"Peg is in place." The attendant spoke into a comm. device. "Securing the competitor now."

The Doctor was pushed forward and for the briefest moment he considered fighting back.
There would be no point, obviously, as the walls of the lift were still closed around them,
cutting off any possible escape route. The female Drephesh knelt down and clamped the
Doctor's right ankle into the cuff while the male shoved a small compass, a pack of nutrition
pills, and a tiny, pathetic excuse for a med-pack into the pockets of the Doctor's combat
trousers. The Time Lord raised a surprised eye-brow - he had certainly not been expecting
such gifts and wondered absently if all the competitors had been offered the same, or if his
lord and master Jancon had managed to bribe the attendants somehow. He would not have put
it passed the Prebassador.
The attendants finished checking him over, not so much as offering him an encouraging smile
or words of advice or good luck. In fact, they offered him no looks and no words whatsoever,
treating him as if he had the same range of awareness as the iron rod they'd just pinned him
to. In the end, though, the woman ruffled his hair almost subconsciously as she moved
around him back to the platform for the lift, like one would reward a dog for staying still for
the groomer. The lift floor didn't completely form this time since the Doctor and his peg now
stood in the way, so the attendants pressed themselves against the wall, holding onto little
handlebars until the lift had moved high enough to clear the Doctor's head and the floor slid
completely together once more.

Not a moment later, the Doctor heard the thrusters in the ship's engines roar to life again and
almost jumped as the cylindrical walls surrounding him lifted off with the rest of the plane.
The hulking metal ship rose slowly at first before shooting off into the sky, ready to drop off
the next competitor.

For the first time, the Doctor got a a good look at the Trials arena. Back on the plane they had
each been given a map of the area to glance at for a few minutes, pointing out where each of
the competitors would be pegged and where the finish line would be. For most, it could only
be used as a reference, since they were only given a little while to study it, but the Doctor had
the thing memorized after the first thirty seconds. He now knew where each water source
was, where each cliff dropped off, where each valley or ravine presented the most weakness.

But seeing the arena itself was another story. It was, quite frankly, lovely. Somewhere he
could see himself once wanting to visit for a camping trip, like in those silly American
movies. Tall, lush trees towered over him, the light of the twin suns illuminating the leaves
and bark to give them a sort of warm glow that took the edge off the Doctor's racing heart if
just for a moment. The air was warm but not hot, thankfully, with just a hint of humidity that
would have sent Rose's hair curling into a frazzled mess within minutes anyway. Birds
twittered in the trees and there were signs of other animal inhabiting the area. The Doctor
thought, if worst comes to worst and he was stuck in this arena longer than a few days, at
least he had a food source. It was true he could go days without eating, but there was no point
weakening himself in the middle of a fight just to keep Bambi and Thumper off the menu.

The boots on his feet were made of supple, well-worn brown leather that laced up past his
ankles for support, but his heels - unaccustomed after so many months of no shoes at all -
were already starting to feel sore and confined. Knowing he wouldn't have much else to do
for a while, the Doctor sat himself down, rearranging the chain so he could comfortably sit
cross-legged in the dirt. Curiously, he reached into his pocket and pulled out the three items
for inspection.

The compass was unextraordinary: a circular object with a plastic face protecting an arrow
that was currently pointing just to the right of North. So this planet did have a North, not just
on the map. Lucky. If they had been on Constaline MP he would have had a right time trying
to figure out which of the sixteen or so magnetic drafts he was supposed to follow. This was
much simpler!

Nutrition pills were, as always, begrudgingly appreciated. The bland, tasteless white tablets
would be able to provide enough nutrition to keep an average humanoid body running for
half a day. For the Doctor it would be more that sufficient to keep himself going for a full 24-
hours, even though they were hardly satisfying and still left the stomach feeling raw and
shriveled like an old fruit. There were six pills in the pack, though the Doctor hoped he
wouldn't be in the arena long enough to have to use all of them. He tucked the pills carefully
back into his pocket, certainly not wanting to lose those.

And lastly, the most surprising and incredible item: the med-pack. It was tiny! Able to fit
perfecting within the Doctor's palm, the small box was made of white plastic and, when
opened, revealed a very creatively arranged pile of typical medical tools. There were a few
strips of gauze, medical tape, a short roll of bandages that would hardly be able to wrap
around the Doctor's head twice, a needle, some thread, tweezers, and a small container of
antibiotic cream. The tiny bottle of ointment would hardly help against Nine's razor-sharp
talons or Eight's lethal fangs, but he was thankful for it nonetheless. It would be pointless to
allow a competitor to die of infection from a small cut or a thorn; these people wanted a
show, not unfortunate circumstance. With something pathetically close to reverence, the
Doctor tucked the med-pack into a separate pocket, making doubly sure the button on the top
was fitted properly so nothing could fall out.

Not a second after he finished, an enormous BANG filled the air. The Doctor launched
himself to his feet, nearly tripping over the short leash pegging him to the ground. That was
it. The Trails had begun. The first competitor had been released. The Doctor had seven and a
half minutes - well, now seven minutes and twenty-one seconds - before his own peg would
break open and set him free. His hearts pounded deafeningly inside his ears. The brightly-lit
forest now seemed a little too bright. There was no where to hide. No darkness or shadows to
conceal him and blend in with his all-black attire. He could so easily be seen, and even
though the snatchers weren't allowed to prowl the arena until after all the competitors had
been released, nothing stopped the other contestants from hunting down each other . The
Doctor only had to hope there was enough space between each of the competitors that no one
would stumble across him and decide to take out one of their opponents when he was still,
more or less, helpless.

Helplessness was not something the Doctor generally enjoyed feeling, despite the fact that
the gnawing, burning presence of it had been haunting him ever since his capture. He glanced
around quickly, surveying the ground for anything he could use just in case. There was a
sharp looking rock just a few feet away that was small enough to hold but large enough to
cause sufficient damage if need be. Straining against the peg, chain taut and cuff digging
uncomfortably into his leg, the Doctor stretched himself as far as he could, fingers grasping
desperately. The rock remained just outside his reach. Frustration surged through the Time
Lord. Of course, he thought with a disdainful sneer. They would never have set him
somewhere within reach of a weapon to defend himself with. He searched the trees above
him, anyway, wondering if he could reach one of the lower hanging branches and snap it off,
but those, too, remained infuriatingly out of his straining fingers grasp.

Three minutes had passed. The first four had been released. He had no doubt number One -
the Sontaran - would head straight for the nearest competitor rather than the finish line. As
would number Four. The only reason the Doctor could think of for placing a Zygon in the
games would be to have it take on the image of the other competitors. Either to confuse or to
take on their traits, the smartest move for the large, cumbersome creature would be to find the
nearest able body to reflect. The other two, however, the Doctor had no idea. He could only
hope they had all decided to run straight for the finish line on the Western side of the forest.

The Doctor spun himself around so he would at least be facing the right direction when the
cuff released him. He would take off into the cover of the trees, disappearing beneath their
leafy shade, and let the green canopy shelter him from the snatchers' sight. Five and a half
minutes had passed. Now Five, Six, and Seven were free. The Doctor tested the peg once
again, pulling on the chain with all his might as if he could pull the peg straight out of the
ground. But of course, as he had expecting, the metal rod was in far too deep and did not
budge.

They were almost at seven minutes now. Nine's peg would just be coming undone. Forty
seconds remained before he -

POP!

The Doctor spun around, startled, and his breath froze before reaching his lungs. Standing not
twenty feet away, flexing his raptor-like hands, talons clacking against the scales of his
palms, was number Nine. The Doctor took a slight step back, chain rattling as he stared at the
competitor with barely concealed shock. "W-what?" He stammered out with a huff of air.
"How did -"

Another POP rang through the small clearing and Nine vanished, reappearing ten feet behind
the Doctor. The Doctor scrambled to keep him in sight as the dreadful realization hit him.
"Oh, that's just not fair..." He pouted to himself. Nine was a teleporter, and the Doctor was
chained to the ground. "Listen to me," The Doctor said a bit louder this time, letting
confidence seep into his voice even as he raised his hands and took another step in the
opposite direction until the chain became taut once again. "We don't have to do this. They're
pitting us against each other for sport, but we don't have to play their game. We can do this
together, we don't have to fight."

But Nine seemed to have other ideas. With a screech that sent all the small woodland birds in
the area shooting into the sky, Nine launched himself forward, talons spread and ready to
strike and slash. The Doctor ducked at the last moment, just barely avoiding the wickedly
sharp nails impaling his throat. Nine's other hand came flying in towards his side, so the
Doctor dropped, rolling out of the way. At least, he tried to roll. The chain stopped him short,
jolting him. He let out a strangled gasp as Nine's foot came down on his shoulder, pinning
him even further to the ground, but he raised his elbow and struck out at the back of Nine's
knee, sending the alien toppling over, legs buckling. Nine righted himself and spun around,
but the Doctor was already back on his feet, turning in a quick circle to keep the chain from
tangling around his ankles like a dog leash. Nine shot forward again but the Doctor caught
him in the stomach, right arm extended fully to slam his fist into the hard muscle of the
competitor's abdomen even as his spine arched backwards to avoid another swipe of the
talons.

The silver-lining, the Doctor thought desperately, was that, despite Nine's quick teleporting,
his movements were slow. Slower, at least, than the Time Lord's, and mostly predictable. The
Doctor just had to hold him off for seventeen more seconds...
"UFH!" The Doctor found himself suddenly on his back, side aching where the muscles had
suddenly been kneed and ankle pulsing from tripping and twisting over his own chain. Nine
towered over him, a victorious and murderous gleam in his otherwise black, beady eyes. The
Doctor tried to push himself up, but the next moment Nine was kneeling over him, straddling
his chest with the Doctor's arms pinned to his sides. The Doctor struggled desperately,
thrashing from side to side, bucking up with his hips, but nothing he did managed to dislodge
the being above him. And then that beings cold, scaly hand was wrapped around the Doctor's
throat, talons curving and splitting the skin, orange blood welling up and he increased his
grip. The Doctor gasped and wheezed but no air came through. He still had ten seconds
before the manacle would come off, but even with his lung capacity it would only take about
half of that to dull his senses. Ten seconds and there would hardly be enough oxygen in his
brain to still move his limbs - which were already starting to feel heavy like lead.

He tried to switch on his respiratory bypass system, but he didn't have the reserves built up to
hold out that much longer. Maybe fifteen seconds. Maybe. Nine's grip became impossibly
tighter and the Doctor feared he would crush his esophagus first anyway. He wasn't
struggling anymore. The Doctor let himself go limp, unmoving except for his eyes which
stared pleadingly into the malicious orbs above him. A scratching sound that might have been
a laugh escaped Nine's twisted mouth, but the noise seemed to come from miles away. There
was a rushing sound in the Doctor's ears, drowning out the fading beats of his hearts. The
image of Nine leaning over him became blurred and darkened along the edges. The Doctor's
chest felt like it was about to cave in at any moment. His lungs seared angrily. He needed air.
He needed to breathe. He had to breathe. He had to...had to...

"Oh, come on, Vis. Pleeeeeeeeeeease?"

The guard rolled his chair around to face her, hand gripping the corner to swing himself
around. He placed his chin on the desk, peering up through his eyelashes at her with his large,
beseeching orange eyes. Vistorya continued to ignore him, typing away at the keyboard with
her own eyes glued to the screen even as a small smirk broke out on her lips. "No, Karmus."

Picking up on the slight giggle in the secretary's voice, Karmus sat up and scooted closed, the
wheels on the chair scratching across the wood floor. He gave a charming smile as he said,
"Vistorya, you sadistic bitch, I'm beggingyou here! What's it going to take to convince you?
I've already employed my most charismatic smile, what else do you want me to do?"

"Well, for starters," Vis began, taking her eyes off the computer for the first time to pin
Karmus down with a playfully menacing glare. "You can make it legal so I wouldn't be
breaking any laws if I did agree."

At this, Karmus laugh outright. "Like that has ever mattered to you before, Vis! Or need I
remind you of the Mid-Season Solstice office party of '23?"

Vis brought a single well-manicured finger to her lips as she grinned into the glow of her
computer screen. "I have no idea what you're talking about." She replied in a manner that
quite clearly stated she did.
"Or..." Karmus mused, "And I really didn't want to have to bring this up, but you leave me no
choice - need I remind you once again that there is a certain guest room on the second level
that mysteriously lost all record of it's use last week, and therefore no subsequent payments
ever reached the record-keepers?"

Now Karmus knew he had her. Vis waved her hand over the sensor beside her desk,
dissolving the screen so she could look straight across the desk at the now victorious guard.
For a moment her expression was completely blank before a suspicious scowl entered her
eyes. "Don't you have a slave to go beat up, Karmus?"

"Train, Vistorya." He sat back pompously. "We don't beat slaves at Eyal, we train them."

"Oh, yes, quite." She grinned at the long-running office joke, and then let the smile slip off
her face to put on an exaggerated reprimanding stare. "No."

"Please?"

"No."

"I'll get your tea for you everyday this week?"

"No."

"This month?"

"No."

"I'll set you up with my brother..."

"Absolutely no."

"No, what?"

Both heads jerked up at the sound of the new voice. One of the younger trainers stood over
them, jacket stripped off and draped over his shoulder as he leaned casually against the desk.
Karmus relaxed, but the new tension in Vis's shoulders remained as she brought the screen
back up, shielding herself from their immediate view.

"AH, Docappel! Back me up here, I'm trying to get Vis to use her magic hacking skills and
find the video feed of the Tarmaggon Trials."

"Shhhh!" Vistorya hissed and shot him another meaningful look. "Do you want the entire
office to hear?"

"The Tarmaggon Trials?" Docappel asked in a surprised tone as he pulled up another chair,
much to Vis's displeasure. "Aren't those illegal?"

"Yes." Vis said quickly while Karmus made an indecisive face.

"Not really. They're just...not exactly legal."

"And I am not bringing up the feed." Vis added with another smirk.

"But you do have it, don't you?" Docappel leaned forward with Karmus, now looking like
eager children. "Oh, let's go!" He encouraged. "I've always wanted to watch one."

"And we both know you're just going to go back to your empty house and watch it by
yourself with your Twelve or so Pigmi Sinjuries." Karmus' smirk was even wider than hers
had been.

Vis was quite glad for the screen still raised as she typed - more like stabbed at the keyboard -
the notes from the day into the file to send to the record-keepers. Little did they know, the
smirk was no longer from dangling the hope of watching the Trials over their heads (and of
course she was going to get the link for them! She just enjoyed watching them squirm.) The
truth was, her house had been far from empty the last few days, leaving no time for such
trivial hobbies as hacking into a secure wireless system designed for the elite of the planet-
cluster in order to indulge in the illegal, yet beautifully upheld tradition of gladiatorial
competition. Although the grin did falter slightly over the trainer and guard's words. Now the
house was empty again. He had left just yesterday, placing a swift farewell and thank-you
kiss on her cheek before dashing off into the stolen shuttle and taking off into the stars. It had
only been a few days, a week at most, but somehow, in some way, Vis already missed him.
He had been different. Daring. And - above all - dangerous in so many, many ways. She
wished she'd thought to postpone her side of the deal for a little longer; a few extra days
would hardly harm the slave, who was probably curled up in that aristocrat's lap enjoying
being hand-fed and coddled. Then she could have her dashing hero back...

But instead she only put on a defeated glower, muttered, "Eight Pigmi Sinjuries, actually"
even as she pulled up the video link she'd already saved to her computer earlier that morning.
"Alright, come on, boys." She sighed exasperatedly and scooted her own chair over to give
them room behind the desk.

Not even bothering to hide their joy at 'winning', Karmus and Docappel quickly wheeled their
chairs around to bunch in closer to the secretary, who rolled her eyes and smiled as the
images loaded. They watched in thrilled silence as the descriptions of each of the the
competitors and their odds flashed across the screen, the slightly opaque rankings just barely
covering the sight of a creature with four arms clinging to the side of a small cliff while a
blue Sinjuray watched with slanted yellow eyes from between the branches of a nearby tree,
tail twitching in anticipation of a pounce. However, itmust have decided against it, for
suddenly the cat-like creature vanished, clawing it's way further up the tree and disappearing
behind the greenery.

"Mmmm, I love Sinjuries." Docappel mused in a far-off voice. "So agile and lithe. Do we
ever get any of those coming through here?" He asked hopefully.

"First attainment record I see of one, I'll let you know." Vis tossed him a wink. It wasn't even
worth pretending she didn't hacked into the slave-rosters each time they got a new shipment.
Curiosity can killed a secretary.

"Bless." Docappel smiled at her.

"Oh, oh, oh! What have we here!" Karmus rocketed forward in his seat as the scene changed,
now showing two figures standing about twenty feet from each other, one flexing its talons
and the other still pegged to the ground. "Oh-ho-ho, I love when this happens!"

Suddenly the one with talons - number Nine, according to the commentary running ont he
bottom of the screen - vanished and reappeared the next instant behind number Ten. The men
gave a quiet whoop of surprise. "OH! Now that's just not fair!" Docappel exclaimed with a
laugh. "Poor bastard. Ten's got no chance."

"Ah, don't count it out yet." They were both on the edge of their seats now, watching avidly
as Ten dodged Nine's first attack and threw itself to the floor, rolling as far as it's chain would
allow out from beneath Nine. Vis, however, was sitting back in her chair, regarding the
thinner, humanoid creature with a slight frown. The slave looked familiar. Very familiar.
There was always a chance

one of the participants would purchase one of their slaves through Eyal, but it was increasinly
rare due to the higher survailance on the most popular slave supplier in the cluster. The Trials
were still, strictly speaking, illegal, even if everyone tended to turn a blind eye and deaf ears
to it, but something as obvious as a purchase would have to have been monitored. And Vis
had no recollection of coming across files of that kind.

"Hang on...Don't I know that slave?" Docappel suddenly voice her thoughts.

Karmus squinted at the screen, now frowning along with them. "Hang on." He muttered
slowly. "I've definitely seen it before, too...wasn't that Bachir's brat of a trainee from a couple
weeks ago?"

Vis bolted upright in her chair, eyes blown wide as she watched the creature get up and strike
back at Nine, managing to land a punch in the scaly creature's stomach. "Yes, I recognize it as
well. What was the number of Bachir's last trainee?"

Docappel looked around thoughtfully. All trainers were supposed to know the identification
numbers of the other trainer's slaves in case they needed to step in or help out with their
charge. Even though Docappel was one of the newer training graduates, he had still been
there during that time. "I think it was something in the three hundreds. 304? No, 305.
Definitely 305."

"So 196305 was the full ID?" Vis managed valiantly to hide how her heart beat had risen and
how her hands now grasped the edge of the armrests, turning her knuckles white.

"Yeah, that would be about the time, I think." Docappel agreed, turning back to the screen.
Karmus whistled lowly as Ten - the once upon a time 305 - was kneed in the side, sending it
stumbling backwards and tripping over it's chain. Vis forced herself to sit there for a moment
longer as Ten landed on its back and Nine pounced on it, pinning Ten to the ground and
wrapping it's large hands around Ten's throat.

"Crisps for anyone?" She asked, rising quickly. The boys both made indistinct sounds of
affirmation, but she was hardly listening. She marched away from her desk, feet taking her
automatically towards the staff kitchens, ignoring the silent slave sweeping the floor right in
 front of her and walking straight through it's path. She pulled from he pocket a communicator
- the one she used for personal calls...and therefore hardly ever used - and dialed a quick
number. Before entering the kitchen, she took a turn down a less-used hall, bringing the
communicator to hear ear and waiting with baited breath. Waiting. Waiting...

"Vis?"

"Ren. Hi, yes, it's me. Listen, we may have a slight change of plans. You might want to place
coordinates for a new destination..."

Chapter End Notes

Recap of Trials competitor order:

1 – Sontaran

2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes

3 – Small female with sharp eyes

4 – Zygon

5 – Male with four-arms

6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)

7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin

8 – Vampire-like female

9 – Male with scales, talon like hands

10 – The Doctor!

11 – Female Aonian

12 – Tentacles
 Chapter 45
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

Click.

Somehow the tiny, insignificant noise was heard over the sound of the struggling pair. The
Doctor, lungs burning and ribcage feeling like it was about to concave beneath the joined
pressure of lack of air and Nine sitting on his chest, barely even registered that the sound
meant, concentration entirely focused on keeping the impending darkness at bay. A fraction
of a second later, as Nine's claws dug further into his skin, the Doctor realized what had
happened. Not wasting another moment, he kicked out with his legs, disentangling them from
the knot the chain had formed around his ankles when he fell. The cuff fell away, finally
released from the peg and not a moment too soon.

Driven by the last remaining strength he had, the Doctor swung his legs high in the air,
slamming his knees into Nine's spine. Nine jolted forward but the force wasn't strong enough
to knock him off entirely. It was, however, enough to loosen his knees, and the Doctor
wrenched his right arm free from beneath the alien. Although instinct told him to grasp and
claw at the vice-like grip around his throat, he forced his fingers to curl into a fist and threw a
vicious right hook into Nine's jaw. Not a moment later his knees struck Nine in the spine
again before wrapping around his neck and twisting. Off balance and stunned from the
sudden strikes, Nine slipped off the Doctor, hand falling away from the Time Lord's throat.

Glorious air rushed into the Doctor's lungs, but he didn't have time to savor it. Nine was
coming back to his sense, a squawk of anger coming from his snarling mouth as he turned on
the Doctor again. The Doctor rolled once, twice, trying to distance himself from the
murderous alien as much as he could even as his muscles screamed for oxygen to fuel them.
He gulped in air only to cough it back out as dirt and sand flew in instead. The coughing
didn't stop, but neither did he. The Doctor rolled backwards, mindless of how pathetic he
looked, hacking and trying to crawl away from the impending danger.

Nine was back on his feet and launched himself at the Doctor, a string of scaly spines rising
up along his neck to make him look even larger and more threatening. Not that he needed to.
The Doctor twisted over so he was once again on his back, staring up at Nine as the alien
pounced on him. What little air the Time Lord had managed to regain was gone a second later
as Nine landed on his chest again, arm raised, talons poised, this time to slash instead of
crush. They were arching down. The Doctor had less than a second. He stretched as far as he
could and -

WHAM.

Nine fell like a dead weight on top of the Doctor. The Time Lord grunted softly as his airway
was squash even more, any excess oxygen being flushed cruelly out of his lungs again. He
lay there for a moment, stunned and gasping shallowly as Nine's body weighed down against
his chest, before the gravity of the situation returned to him. He had to get up. He had to get
going again. Time had already run out, the last competitor had been uncuffed, the snatchers
would have been released. The Doctor stared upwards at the clear blue sky above and
realized just how exposed he was in the clearing. He had to move.

With more effort that he wished it would take, the Doctor managed to shrug and shove Nine's
limp form off of him. Blood was oozing from a wound just above the alien's left ear; a dark
purple that matched the stain setting into the jagged edge of the rock clasped tightly in the
Doctor's hand. After a moment he dropped the stone, and it landed with a heavy thud on the
forest floor.

A small measure of guilt swelled up inside him at the sight of the unconscious, bloody being.
Nine wouldn't die from the injury, but the Doctor didn't envy the headache he would have
when he woke up. He didn't have to hit him so hard, he could have just run away, or tried
talking to him -

No. He did try talking to him, and the alien attacked anyway. Trying to dissuade him had
been about as successful as trying to escape a black hole on the back of a leaf blower. This
wasn't the time for talk; Nine knew that, everyone else there probably knew that, and it had
almost cost the Doctor his life to learn that. Now was the time for action, for defense, for
violence if it came down to it. Survival was the first thing in order. Than rescuing Rose. His
morals and guilty conscience would have to come later.

This certainly meant he would have to give up his habit of chatting the ears off his enemies,
for the time being...but by no means did he have to become a killer. And by no means did he
have to become heartless, either. He might play their game, but he didn't have to become one
of them.

So even as he cruelly crushed down the guilt lodged somewhere in his aching chest, the
Doctor moved into action. He couldn't just leave Nine laying unconscious in the clearing,
vulnerable and defenseless. Although he doubted Jancon would activate the virus in an
knocked-out competitor if the snatchers did come along, but the Doctor didn't want to risk the
life of the alien, or those of the snatchers if it came to that.

It was a slow, lonely battle trying to get back to his feet. The Doctor's lungs still burned with
every gasp of air and his ankle gave a small twinge of pain when he put any weight down on
it. Not a good start to the Trials, twisting his ankle. If he couldn't run, he was basically
screwed. A hand found its way up to his throat, feeling the torn and bruised skin around his
neck. Nine had nearly snapped the Doctor's esophagus. Another few seconds, a little more
pressure, and the Doctor would have died just moments after the attack, choking to death as
his own blood clotted in his destroyed throat. Blood colored his fingers orange when he
pulled them away; not much, but enough to fear the wound was deep enough to cause
infection.

He would have to worry about that later. Stealing himself, the Doctor prepared for any
amount of pain that might come as he leaned down and grabbed Nine be the arms, dragging
him backwards across the dirt towards the tree line. It was slow work with his ankle
throbbing with each step and lungs aching from the extra strain. He half expected his fellow
competitor to be light as a feather, judging by his clear avian-like heritage, but Nine was
surprisingly heavy. His feet dragged unhelpfully in front of them, limbs like a marionette
with it's strings cut.

The Doctor felt more than saw himself finally cross into the tree line. The shade was cool and
refreshing after the struggle he'd just been through in the unrelenting sun. It wasn't nearly as
hot as the desert of Drephia had been - he shuddered at the painful memory of being tied to
that pole outside the outpost - but the protection of the trees was still a welcome relief. He
dragged Nine a few more layers in before propping the alien up against a tree trunk and
collapsing down beside him with a heavy "Whoooo."

The forest was eerily quiet, and after only a few seconds of the unsettling silence, the Doctor
cleared his throat and clapped Nine on the shoulder like they were old drinking pals. "There
you go, buddy. You just rest up." The Doctor found himself muttering as he closed his eyes
and let his head fall back against the tree. "You're going to have one hell of a headache in the
morning. I certainly don't envy you that." He opened one eye briefly and glanced sideways at
the unresponsive competitor.

"No hard feelings, I trust?" The Doctor went on. When Nine didn't reply - not that the Doctor
really expected him to - the Time Lord instead ran his eyes over the alien's body. He hadn't
had much time to take in Nine's appearance earlier, not with all the disappearing and
strangling going on. Now he truly could see just how razor sharp those talons were, just as
sharp as his facial features and hooked, beak-like nose and just as hard as the black scales
leading from the talons over his hands and up his arms. The Doctor had no doubt his feet and
ankles were the same, but that only deepened the frown forming between his eyebrows.

"Part bird, part reptile, but can...what is it, teleport? Move impossibly fast? How do you
manage that little party trick, eh?" He mused out loud. Nine gave no response. "Biological?
Learned? Illusion?..." Nine was as silent and unconscious as ever. The Doctor blew out an
exasperated breath. "Well, blimey, you're quiet company. Granted, I guess I have a bit of
blame to take for that. Knocking someone unconscious does tend to be a bit of a conversation
killer."

Determined as ever, the Doctor paused again incase Nine decided to comment. No entirely
surprisingly, he did not. After another expectant moment, the Doctor just clapped him on the
shoulder one more time. "Yep, good talk. Let's do it again sometime." Having his breath
back, the Doctor pushed himself to his feet, using the tree for leverage. He stuck out his
tongue, tasting the air like a lizard. There was a strong magnetic zing in the air. He was too
far North. The finish line was somewhere off in the southwestern region of the arena.
Reaching into his pocket, glad none of the contents had spilled out during the little skirmish,
the Doctor pulled out the cheap compass and inspected it. The little arrow was pointing
behind him and to the right. at least he was facing the right direction. Now all he had to do
was -

"Ahh."

The cry was more from surprise than pain as the Doctor glanced down at the burning spot on
his left arm. The ridged dot by the crook of his elbow pulsed warningly. Someone must have
just been picked up by the snatchers, the tag inside the competitor's skin activating. The
Doctor hadn't noticed during the testing just how strong he'd made the alert on his own
subdermal remote, but at least there would be no mistaking it or missing the alarm. Without
hesitating another second, he pressed his finger to the raised bump searing just below his skin
and sent out the signal for the antivirus. He hoped that, if he was fast enough and consistent
enough each time, Jancon just might think it was a fluke, might think the virus didn't work,
might think his precious pet Time Lord had screwed up and the distance between the remote
control and the tag was too far apart for the signal to reach. If the Doctor was fast enough, the
virus wouldn't even have time to react within the competitor. If he was fast enough, no one
needed to die.

Unless they get in my way, the strong, defiant voice that had gotten him through Eyal training
suddenly spoke up. It was his voice of instinct, of survival, strengthening his resolve and
reminding him of the verdict he'd come to only minutes earlier. He would do whatever it took
to make it through this Trial and get back to Rose with the least amount of bloodshed he
could, but it was pointless to avoid the inevitable fact that, at some point, he would have to
injure or kill to make it happen. You've already destroyed your entire planet, the suddenly
venomous, vindictive voice added, what's a few more pints of blood on your hands?

Instead of answering himself, the Doctor knelt down, grabbed the compass he'd dropped
when the alert went off, and pocketed it among his other few possessions. He started off at a
swift pace, angling a little more west than south. If he followed this path - and remembered
the map properly - he would eventually intersect with one of the two creeks that ran through
the arena. His throat felt raw from coughing and layered with coarse sand. He would need
something to drink soon and he only hoped the creek wasn't too far away. The sun was
already slanting down towards the horizon. The Doctor guessed he had about two and a half,
maybe three hours of sunlight left, and would need to find shelter before the night took over,
too.

If it hadn't been for his growing thirst, sore neck, slightly throbbing ankle, and the ever-
present tingle of paranoia (no, awareness, the Doctor tried to console himself) he might have
actually began to enjoy himself. Despite the impending nightfall, the forest was beautiful, the
trees illuminated by the soft light filtering through the upper branches and leafs. The birds
he'd heard earlier, however, had stopped their cheerful chirping, most likely disturbed by the
zooming of the snatchers' aircrafts. So instead the Doctor whistled lowly to himself,
determined - if not delusional - that he was going to enjoy every little moment of peace he
could.

Jancon watched with caged curiosity as the victorious snatchers swept away the now
neutralized competitor. Twelve's strange, tentacle-like appendages dangled harmlessly behind
him as he was dragged into the aircraft, stunned but still alive and conscious. Jancon
absentmindedly ran his thumb along the curved edge of the remote hidden discretely between
his leg and the arm of his large, wind-backed chair. It had been a good minute or two since
he'd pressed the button and nothing had happened yet. During the testing, the effects had
taken only seconds to reach the slaveboy. Of course, distance had to be taken into account,
but he'd hardly expected it to take this long. Maybe he should have tested that as well...he
was getting lazy.
He doubted the Time Lord had done anything so simple to compromise the project. It was
hardly a secret that John didn't approve of his master's winning tactic, but with everything the
Time Lord had at stake, and the ease at which Jancon could have decided to test the reach of
the remote's signal, it would have been so foolishly beyond John's intellect to do something
so noticeable and rash. No, it must have been something else.

Either way, the Prebassador glanced sideways out of the corner of his eye at the human curled
up on the couch across the room as if her body-language could have revealed her mate's
involvement. However, the girl gave nothing away except for that fact that she clearly didn't
wish to be in their company.

Like Jancon, Rose sat slightly apart from the rest of the crowd converged in the entertainment
room, not joining in with their conversation or laughter. She had hardly touched any of the
food or drink laid out either, feeling nauseous just at the thought of putting anything in her
stomach. She didn't really care that she looked like an insolent teenager, curled up on a couch
by herself with her knees drawn to her chest, eyes glued to the screen as her fingers played
absently with the stones on her necklace. It was impossible to get involved in the
conversation - not that she had any desire to since most of the guests today had been the same
ones from the disastrous dinner party a week earlier. All that mattered to her was what was
happening on the screen in front of her.

And she honestly couldn't decide which she dreaded more...when the Doctor wasn't on the
screen, or when he was. She hated both equally and yet couldn't stop the hitch in her breath
every time she saw his skinny, familiar form. Compared to all the other competitors, he just
looked so...normal. So unprepared, even though she knew he'd been training relentlessly for
the last few weeks. But he didn't have the stone-like protective skin of number Seven, or the
extra appendages like number Five, or the terrifyingly useful and deadly teeth of number
Eight.

He has his brain, she remembered suddenly as flashes of different scenarios from the past
danced across her memory. Scenarios in which the Doctor and Rose surely would have died
had it not been for his quick and clever thinking. That was the Doctor's special weapon above
the others. That's what would get him through the Trials. At least, that was what Rose told
herself he had to think. Anything she could do to keep herself from going insane with worry
was welcome at this point.

"Rose, dear, do try these kaege-flød, they are delicious."

Rose was jolted out of her thoughts by Ilaria's fluid voice. She saw a tray of some kind of
cakes appear in her peripheral vision, but she refused to tear her eyes away from the screen,
just in case the Doctor came back. They'd just watched him escape competitor number Nine's
attack, but who knew what else that crazy, danger-prone Time Lord had gotten himself into
now. So Rose just shook her head, mindful of how impolite she was being and unable to
actually give a damn.

Ilaria sighed, but when she spoke again Rose could practically hear the smile in her voice.
"Yes, of course, quite right you are, dear. You'll want to keep your figure nice and slim. You'll
need to be attracting a new mate soon, anyway."
 And with that the aristocrat sauntered away, oblivious of the now slightly green-tinted skin on
Rose's face as the words swept over her, making her stomach flip over and tears of fear and
frustration leap, unshed, into her eyes.

Chapter End Notes

Recap of Trials competitor order:

1 – Sontaran

2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes

3 – Small female with sharp eyes

4 – Zygon

5 – Male with four-arms

6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)

7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin

8 – Vampire-like female

9 – Male with scales, talon like hands

10 – The Doctor!

11 – Female Aonian

12 – Tentacles
 Chapter 46
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

The line of trees finally parted just as the sun began to droop behind the first tips of the
mountains in the distance. The Doctor could have dropped to his knees at the sight that
greeted him. He wiped a few beads of sweat from his brow and panted harshly through his
smile. The ground tipped downwards almost as soon as it left the treeline, creating a shallow
ravine with a thin streak of silver careening between the rocks at the bottom. Water. Finally. It
had been an hour and a half of walking through the hot, dry forest, and the Doctor was
feeling uncomfortably thirsty and heavy with exhaustion.

He glanced surreptitiously over his shoulder, the branch of a tree behind him shifting despite
the stillness of the air as if an animal had just leapt from it, before beginning the trek
downhill. Thankfully, the ravine wasn't steep at all, and it only took the Time Lord a few
minutes of careful footwork to reach the bottom. By then, however, his excitement had
quickly dwindled.

Ice. The Doctor frowned as he knelt down beside the still, solid, frozen stretch of water.
How...what? He ran a finger over the surface, frown deepening as the cold attacked his bare
skin. Lifting his finger off the surface, however, whatever liquid clang to him immediately
evaporated into the evening air, which was still far too hot for the creek to be frozen solid.

The Doctor sat back on his heels, glaring at the ice as if it had personally insulted him. How
was that even possible? No matter what planet you were one, ice that cold would not stay that
way in this heat for long, but the creek showed no sign of melting anytime soon. If anything,
the ice looked like it was getting thicker. Picking up a rock by his knee, the Doctor decided to
try hacking at the surface. Maybe he could chip off a few chunks and see if it would melt in
his mouth. He couldn't imagine it would stay frozen, but if it did it hardly mattered; ice was
still water, and would still do it's job of re-hydrating the Time Lord, even if it wouldn't be as
soothing and satisfying on his dry throat.

However, even as the Doctor chipped at the surface and loosened the ice with the sharp edge
of the rock, as soon as the shards made contact with the ice again, it morphed right back into
the frozen surface.

He repressed the urge to growl and just chuck the rock at the creek in frustration, and instead
just closed his eyes, took a deep breath, and said in a loud, carrying voice, "You wouldn't
happen to know how to get the water to notbe frozen, would you?"

Silence met his words, but he still waited, turning slightly to the left as a few pebbles seemed
to move on their own. Concentrating on that one spot, the Doctor let his eyes focus, blur, and
then refocus on the faint outline of what could be a foot. He followed it up over an ankle, and
then a leg, almost invisible and perfectly camouflaged against the rocky shore, until he
reached a waist, shoulders, and, eventually, an almost indiscernible face staring back at him.
It almost hurt to concentrate on her so hard, like keeping his eyes crossed for an extended
amount of time, but if he looked very closely he could almost make out an expression that
quite clearly read 'And why would I tell you?'

"Come on," The Doctor smiled charmingly. "I led you to the water. It's only fair you help
out."

"If 'fair' is how you're playing the game, you weren't listening to the rules." The Aonian
hummed as she knelt just like him only ten feet away, safely out of reach. As she moved her
skin morphed again, colors flowing perfectly to match the background, keeping her nearly
undetectable. The Doctor just continued to smile, glad she was finally acknowledging him.

"I thought the whole point was that there were no rules."

"Exactly," She smiled devilishly, her teeth standing out eerily like a Cheshire-grin, not able to
camouflage like the rest of her skin. "I could kill you right now with no consequences."

At this, the Doctor chuckled and raised an eyebrow. "Please, you've been following me for
the last forty-five minutes. If you wanted to kill me, you would have already."

The Aonian - number Eleven, he remembered - simply watched him for a moment, face as
mysterious as her real skin color. "You're very good." She finally admitted as one corner of
her lips flexed upwards.

The Doctor gave her an appraising smirk. "Not so bad yourself. Impressive contrachroming.
Never seen anything quite like it."

"And you never will again. That's sort of the point." He thought she might have tossed him a
wink, but it was hard to tell.

"So, the water?"

"I could just let you die from dehydration instead." She suggested, and for some reason the
Doctor wasn't as fond of that option.

"I would figure it out eventually." He assured her. "I just wanted to draw you out of hiding."

"Feeling lonely?"

"Yes." The Doctor could tell she was taken aback by his quick, honest response. Eleven
stared at him for a moment longer. The sky behind her started to darken slightly as the sun
continued it's path behind the mountain. Attention focused on the Doctor, the skin on her face
forgot to darken as well, and for a second the Doctor could see her clearly. She had a soft,
heart-shaped face that stood in stark contrast to the hardness in her blue eyes, and her short
azure hair was spikey and windswept from following after the Doctor's long, quick steps.

As if she could read what was happening in his face, Eleven quickly morphed her skin color
back in line, disappearing so fast that the Doctor could have blinked and believed she was
gone entirely. The Doctor didn't speak, waiting for her to -
"It's locked in a conformation-state." She finally announced as she turned towards the water,
body still angled so she could see the Doctor clearly to the side, daring him to come any
closer. She reached for a rock and, like the Doctor had moments ago, began chipping at the
surface. Each time a shard of ice broke away and hit the solid creek water, it froze again.
"When the molecules come in contact with each other, the minority with comply with the
structure of the majority. But if you separate them..." She chipped at the surface again and
released another small shaft of ice, but this time it landed in the palm of her opposite hand.
As soon as it touched her skin, the edges softened and it began to melt. "The molecules
disengage and it returns to a liquid form." Eleven lifted her hand and tipped the small amount
of water towards her lips, savoring the taste.

"Amazing..." The Doctor muttered, also turning back to stare, fascinated, at the solid ice
creek. He'd never heard of a locked conformation-state, and were he not in such a dangerous
life-and-death situation, he would probably be giddy and excited to figure out the science
behind it all. Now, however, he couldn't bring himself to be so enthusiastic. It was clearly
designed to mess with the competitors, make them frustrated, confused, and desperate. He
wondered how many slaves in the past had died from dehydration, not able to figure out the
riddle of the water. None, probably, the Doctor answered himself. They were most likely
picked off by someone else, first. The weak and the alone.

"You clearly know what you're doing in here." The Doctor found himself saying to Eleven's
faint silhouette. "We could go at this together? Two is safer than one."

"Are you asking me to be your ally?" He thought she might be raising an eyebrow, but in the
vanishing light it was even more impossible to tell. The Doctor shrugged in response.

"I'll watch your back, you watch mine. You're clearly not much of a fighter, seeing as your
weapon of choice is camouflage, and like I said before: Two is safer than one."

"Not if one of those two stabs you in the back while you sleep." She responded in a suddenly
cold, malicious tone. "I'd expect nothing less than that from Jancon's pet."

The last part halted the Doctor's rebuttal. Jancon's pet? She knew who his owner was? But
why would that make her think he wasn't trustworthy? The base of his neck twinged slightly
at that thought, and regretfully the Doctor realized why.

"I'm not Jancon's pet..." He went to say, but cut himself off almost instantly. He heard
something. Something soft and whirling. He spun around, foolishly presenting his back to the
other competitor, to stare at a spot in the cobalt sky just over the trees.

"What is it?" Eleven asked, now clearly nervous. The Doctor shushed her with a raised hand,
straining both his ears and eyes in the direction the whirling was coming from. It was getting
louder. Closer.

"Snatchers." He breathed.

Neither of them wasted another moment. Spurred by desperation and adrenaline, they took
off together across the creek, clambering up the opposite bank of the ravine. Eleven tripped
over a rock, her contrachroming thrown off by the surprise and pain in her foot. The Doctor
grabbed her hand and pulled her up, half dragging her along behind him up the hill. The
whirling - which the Doctor now recognized as the almost indiscernible sound of hover
engines - was getting louder still, coming right towards them. The ravine had been too open,
the Doctor chided himself. He should have retreated back to the cover of the forest, not
squatting there like some sitting duck.

The two bust into the line of trees and kept going. The edge of the forest was too sparse, you
could clearly see the forest floor through the branches from above. They sprinted, heedless
for direction. Light erupted in the Doctor peripheral vision. Search lights. So not good! They
needed more cover. They needed more cover now.

The Doctor slammed to a halt, spun, and took off again, dragging the startled and annoyed
girl behind him. His eyes had landed on a small outcrop of rock with a shallow ditch dug out
beneath it, like a foxes den. It was tiny, but they would just about fit. Without a word, he
practically shoved Eleven down into it, ripped up one of the thick bushes growing off to the
side with more force than was probably necessary, a dove in beside her, dragging the bush
behind him to cover the entrance of the den.

The bush blocked off his vision, both of Eleven and the space outside the outcrop, but he
didn't dare close his eyes. He tried to peer fruitlessly through the thick branches of the plant
until his field of vision was suddenly flooded with light. It bled through the branches, white
tendrils of visible dread striking the Doctor's skin. He didn't dare breathe. The whirling
engines were right above them. They were found. They were trapped. The Doctor was going
to die like a hunted rabbit hiding in a hole. And if he didn't die...he didn't want to think about
it. If Jancon released the virus inside him, there was no way to tell how it would affect his
next regeneration, or if he even couldregenerate.

His lungs refused to work even as the light drifted slowly away, scanning the rest of the area.
He still didn't dare breathe as the whirling got quieter as the snatchers moved further away.
Eleven shifted beside him, the branches blocking his view from her rustling slightly in the
now quiet night air. He breathed out a "Shhhhh..." just in case, though he doubted there was
anyone around to hear any more. He stayed there for a few more minutes just to make sure
the snatcher's ship wasn't going to turn around and come back. Eleven stayed completely
silent and still the whole time.

Shifting the bush, the Doctor poked his head out slowly. He could hear some sort of night
bugs chirping in the background, but no movement or engines. "Stay here." He whispered to
Eleven as he crawled out of the den, making sure the branch didn't move too much and reveal
the Aonian just in case there was still someone around. Cautiously, the Doctor lifted himself
to his feet, straining his eyes and ears. From what he could tell, the threat was over. There
was no one around but the two of them.

"Okay," He said a little louder, turning back towards the den. "Okay, I think they're gone."

Eleven didn't say anything or move. The Doctor went to help her move the branch out of the
way, but stopped short and instead sighed at the sight on the empty hollow. "And...so are you.
Great. So much for allies." Eleven must have slipped out after the Doctor, or maybe that first
time she had ruffled the branches of the bush as soon as the snatchers had vanished. He
couldn't blame her, though. Alliances could be dangerous. And apparently beingJancon's pet
made it even more so.

Exhaustion suddenly sank it's teeth into his bones. He sat down against the rocky ledge of the
den lest his shaking legs give out on him. He hadn't managed to get any water earlier, but his
hearts were still racing with dread that the snatchers would find him if he ventured down into
that open ravine again. His stomach gave a rumble of protest at the fact that he hadn't had
anything to eat since the night before and the Doctor was painfully aware that he had no food.
He should have focused on that during his hike to the creek. Maybe he could have gathered
some berries or roots, maybe snared a squirrel or something if he'd taken the time to set one
up.

Instead, the Doctor resigned himself to the unsatisfying meal of a nutrition tablet, pulling the
small white pill from the pocket of his trousers. It tasted bland and chalky, but he forced it
down his dry throat anyway, knowing the alternatives - starvation, exhaustion, death - were
far more unpleasant.

He should have made the trip back to the creek under the cover of darkness, but in the
aftermath of the adrenaline spike and everything that had happened that day, the Doctor could
barely keep his eyes open. With a few hours sleep he would be back on his feet. The Doctor
crawled back into the den, knowing it was probably the best shelter he would find that night,
and repositioned the bush in front of the entrance. A couple hours, that was it. That was all he
needed. Just a little...bit...of rest...

The Doctor was asleep within seconds of closing his eyes.

"Snatchers!"

The word caused Rose's head to jerk up, a dollop of chocolate missing the little pastry it was
intended for and landing on the tray instead. Out of a lack of anything else to do, a total fear
of being around...well, anyone at the moment, and the gut-wrenching anxiety at the mere
thought of what might be happening to the Doctor at that very moment, Rose had abandoned
the party and submitted herself to helping Mrs. Sihn in the kitchens. But as she glanced up at
Chirla's stricken face standing framed in the doorway, Rose abandoned the funnel-like device
she'd been using and bolted out after the servant girl.

The kitchens were close in the informal entertainment room where Jancon and Ilaria had
retired after their guests had left. It was late by now, and most viewers were only interested in
the opening and closing events. They were most likely watch a 'Greatest Hits' reel of all the
close calls and horrific deaths that happened over the course of the night, but the night was
not over for the masters.

Jancon stood in front of the large screen, arms crossed and expression thoroughly unreadable.
He didn't even acknowledge Rose as the girl came barreling into the room, staggering to a
halt beside the Prebassador. There on the screen was the Doctor, dressed in his black combat
outfit, orange-red still staining his throat from his earlier confrontation with the ninth
competitor. This was the first time he'd had screen-time since the terrifying first fight ended,
and Rose thought he looked even worse now.
 His hair was damn with sweat and his face streaked with focused fear. He was scrambling up
the side of a shallow chasm, rocks and pebbles flying at his heels. At first he appeared to be
alone but as Rose watched a patch of earth at his side suddenly shifted, flashing a pale skin-
tone color in the shape of a person. Rose thought she'd imagined it until the Doctor thrust his
arm backwards and grabbed onto what seemed to be thin air. She saw the slide of colors
again and was sure there was someone there with him. Someone who looked, now that she
was really paying attention, female in figure. Rose couldn't tell was the tingle of emotions she
felt in the chest was - (unjustified and selfish) jealousy that he was with another woman, or
relief that he wasn't alone.

Daring to tear her eyes away from the screen for a split second, Rose glanced at Jancon and
almost flinched at the intensity in his eyes. The screen flashed away to show the snatchers'
hovership bearing down on the two figures now attempting to vanish into the trees. A
searchlight came on and illuminated a deadly path.

"What's going to happen if they get caught?" Rose found herself whispering before she even
knew what she was doing. Another furtive peek at Jancon told her his eyes were still glued to
the screen. "What will you do if he gets caught?" She changed her question. She wasn't even
sure if he heard her, her voice was far too quiet, too weak, over the din of the television
narrator.

There was another strenuous pause as they watched the Doctor dive beneath a sort of outcrop
of rock, pulling a bush in behind him to block the entrance. The anxiety-ridden anticipation
continued as they watched the snatchers' ship sail by over heard. They stayed in mutual
mortified silence as the Doctor crawled out of his hiding place and glanced around, declaring
himself safe. Rose let out a breath she hadn't been aware of holding as relief flooded through
her. He was safe. He had made it.

Her breath was knocked from her lungs only moments later, however, when Jancon finally
turned away from the screen, barely offering her a glance - maybe he felt guilty, maybe he
was embarrassed, maybe he was just an ass - and said in a stale, dead voice, "Don't ask
questions you don't want to know the answer to, Miss Rose."

Chapter End Notes

Recap of Trials competitor order:

1 – Sontaran

2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes

3 – Small female with sharp eyes

4 – Zygon

5 – Male with four-arms

6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)

7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin

8 – Vampire-like female

9 – Male with scales, talon like hands

10 – The Doctor!

11 – Female Aonian

12 – Tentacles
 Chapter 47
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

In his dream, he's tied once again to the punishment poles in the servant's yard. His arms are
stretched out to either side, revealing his vulnerable skin and leaving him open to the cruel
bite of the whip in Jancon's hand. He hisses through his teeth as the lash flicks forward and
wraps around his left arm. His skin burns where the leather strikes just below the crook of his
elbow - not the sharp stinging pain he was expecting, but sudden, dull, and short-lived.

"Please. Stop." The Doctor feels his mouth moving, but the voice isn't his. It's young, heavy
with childhood innocence, but agonizingly familiar. The whip slashes at him again, wrapping
around the same spot on his arm. He feels the burn, insistent but not necessarily painful. Not
as painful as that voice.

"Please stop him." The Doctor speaks again and a tear falls down his cheek as he recognizes
the voice. It is him...but it's not him. Not anymore. Not in so, so long.

Jancon lifts his arm again and the whip lands for a third time in the same spot. The Doctor
glances down through his tears. The lash is no longer made of strong, unyielding leather, but
a thin, brittle, fragile length of vine studded with rose thorns. The thorns rip into his skin,
releasing human-red blood, before the vine breaks into a thousand pieces and shatters at his
feet.

Fingers curl around his chin and yank his eyes back forward. The Doctor shrinks away,
flinching violently, as Theta glares murderously into his future eyes. The innocence the
Doctor had heard is gone, shattered and broken like the rose vine, as Theta leans forward,
teeth bared, fingers pinching and cold like death, to hiss venomously: "Jancon's Pet."

The Doctor woke with a jolt. Propelled by an unexplainable force - fear? anger? anxiety?
dread? - he bolted upright like he was on springs, only to fall back down to the ground with a
drawn out "Owwww...", cradling his head in his arms. Sometime in his sleep he'd forgotten
how low the ceiling on his little den was. Now the throbbing in his skull reminded him.

He stayed like that for a few moments before he remembered his situation. He'd slept far
longer than he had anticipated - clearly it was needed - but now was the time to keep going.
He was still at least a day or two's steady march to the finish line, and that was without
stopping for food, water, rest, or fights to the death. Not to mention being chased by snatchers
again.

The Doctor bolted upright again, this time mindful of the hard rock looming over him. The
snatchers! The Doctor flashed back to his dream, remembering how to bite of the whip was
more of a burn than a sting, always landing on the same place. Right below his left elbow.
What if it hadn't only been in his dream? What if someone had been captured and the trigger
warning had gone off and...he'd slept right through it? Franticly, the Doctor pressed his finger
to the spot anyway, even though the burning had stopped, just in case. Just in case there was
still time to save someone.

There was no way to tell if it worked; he would just have to hope. The Doctor stayed there
for a moment longer, relishing the dark coolness of the den, holding off the inevitable shove
back to reality. His stomach was annoyingly empty, verging on aching, and his tongue felt
like sandpaper inside his mouth from lack of water. The Doctor sent out a mental 'thank you
very much' to the snatchers for interrupting his water-cooler-time last night with Eleven but
then quickly shut off such a thought. He doubted any of the snatchers' ships were equipped
with psychic wavelength detectors, but it never hurt to be safe.

"Alright, old man," He finally groaned as he pushed himself onto his elbows. "Time to get
up."

The morning was bright and pleasantly warm but the Doctor knew it will only get hotter from
this point on. Drawing on the frantic memories from last night, he began picking his way
through the forest back towards the ravine. He hated to make himself vulnerable again in
such an open position, but he wasn't going to fool himself into thinking he would last very
long that day in the heat without hydrating. A quick water break, find something to eat, and
then he would be on his way west to the finish line.

At some point the night before he must have twisted his ankle running. It didn't hurt terribly,
but he felt a definite twinge of discomfort running up his leg as he tried to navigate down the
rocky hillside. Just add that to the ever growing list of injuries the Doctor kept accumulating -
it wasn't likely that the list would be getting any shorter anytime soon.

It took the Doctor less than a minute to find a suitable rock and start chipping away at the
still-frozen surface of the creek. He wasn't at all surprised to see that it hadn't transformed
back into liquid overnight, but to be honest those would have been lofty expectations and
Eleven's trick fortunately worked just fine. It was a slower process than he would have
preferred, but the freshly melted water was refreshingly cold against his sore, parched throat.
A sigh of relief managed to escape him before he was back at the chipping, tongue thirsty for
more.

He wish he had some sort of canteen or bottle so he could carry a bit of water along with him.
That, however, would be far too convenient. The Doctor sat back on his heels and glanced
downstream. For now the creek was flowing west, meaning he could just follow the
riverbank and keep near the water source for as long as possible until it verged off track. He
knew the creek would eventually curve south, but for now - if he stayed just within the tree
line - staying with the creek would be his best bet for surviving this Trial and getting home.

That thought inevitably wandered over to Rose...Was she alright? Was she still freaking out
about what he'd revealed to her? Was she watching him? He could practically taste the
camosphere in the air - near invisible clouds of tiny collage-cameras whirling about around
the arena, taking in every angle and aspect of the Trials - so the Doctor knew he was being
recorded. Maybe not at this exact moment, with nothing more exciting than figuring out how
to drink water going on -

"Nghuuu!"
Hands suddenly grabbed him from behind. Thick, beefy, red fingers dug painfully into the
skin on his face as he was dragged backwards, shouting out through the palm pressed over
his lips as he lost his balance and crashed down against the hard rocky shore. His hand was
already shooting up to grab his attacker's wrist when the fingers released him, shoving him
forcefully away so the Doctor had to catch himself on his hands before his face came in quick
contact with the ground. Not wasting a moment, the Doctor leapt to his feet and swiveled
around to face...

Himself.

A tall, thin man stood before him with a shock of disheveled brown hair and sharp, ancient
matching eyes. The Doctor's reflection smiled, eyes closed leisurely, as he rotated his head to
the side, cracking his neck and rolling his shoulders. The real Doctor, however, was frozen in
place by surprise before the realization finally hit him.

"Zygon?" He breathed.

Competitor number Four smiled even wider, twisting the Doctor's usually charming smile
into something mocking and sinister. "You are quick, aren't you? Much better than the last
one. All battle, no brains. That's what I get for using a Sontaran, I guess."

"I assume he's dead then." The Doctor responded stonily, not really caring about the
Sontaran's well-being as he tried to stealthily move up the bank so he had the higher ground
over...himself. Rassilon, this was weird. He didn't really want to attack himself, but knowing
Zygon strategy he knew the creature would eventually try to knock him out in order to
sustain the connection without it's 'source' interfering.

"Not by my hand." Four replied with a smirk as he simply shifted his borrowed body, cutting
off the Doctor's movement with a knowing look. He recognized exactly what the Doctor was
trying to do. Four now had all of the Doctor's memories and tactics - so very, very not good.
"But I'll have to thank the snatchers for that one...this body is much nicer." The Zygon ran a
curious hand down his chest, feeling the muscle beneath the black fabric of his shirt. "Taller,
that's for sure. Quicker. Smarter. And..."

The Zygon stopped as his hand ran over the spot just below his left elbow, fingers running
over the small, unnatural bump there. The Doctor, now level with Four, fought to keep this
face completely blank. There wouldn't be a device under the Zygon's skin, not like his, but
the body had still been manipulated into that shape. He just had to hope -

The look of confusion on the Zygon's face didn't last long as, apparently, the creature filed
through the Doctor's memories. Fear and realization suddenly flooded those familiar brown
eyes as the other hand shot up to the nape of his neck, feeling where the tracker had been
injected, knowing what else had been injected as well.

"You -"

NO. The Doctor launched into action before he even thought about what he was doing - he
couldn't let Four give him away. Jumping forward, the Doctor struck out with his left hand,
catching the Zygon in the chest with the broad side of his forearm. Following the momentum,
the Doctor immediately thrust his right fist into Four's now hunched over shoulder. Anyone
else, and the strength of the shot would have propelled the joint right out of the socket, but
with the Doctor's own superior body the Zygon was simply thrown backwards a few steps,
stumbling from the sudden, vicious attack.

Four ducked quickly as the Doctor jumped and aimed what would have been a knock-out
kick to the creature's head, right in his matching features. The Zygon launched himself back
up and forward, faking a blow with his left hand while angling a hook towards the Doctor's
head with his right. Guessing his fighting style - knowing his fighting style, since it was his
own - the Doctor managed to block it with an upward jab while at the same time lashing out
to grab hold of the Zygon's next quick attempt at catching the Doctor off guard with his other
hand.

Holding onto the Zygon's fist, the Doctor pulled him close as he stepped forward and drove
his knee into his reflection's hard abs. He heard Four gasp as the air was driven from lungs.
Despite his lose of breath, the Zygon used the force of the blow to bow his head forward like
a striking snake, aiming to headbutt the Doctor, who simply ducked and twisted, kicking his
ankle up in a mule-kick to catch the Zygon on the back of the neck.

That was enough to launch the Zygon back, but he moved too fast - as fast as the Doctor now.
Four grabbed both of the Doctor's wrists, pulling them straight out behind the Doctor's back,
as his foot slammed into the back of the Doctor's knee. They both toppled over, crying out in
identical shocked and pained voices as their bodies struck the round rocks lining the edge of
the ravine and tumbled down the wash. The Doctor rolled head over heels, fruitless trying to
stop himself. Four gave a loud grunt of pain somewhere around him but the entire world was
one big swirl of colors and agony and he couldn't tell exactly where it was coming from. The
Doctor flipped forward and cried out sharply as his wrist got caught beneath him at an
unpleasant angle.

Finally the slope evened out and the sudden harsh coldness pressing against the Doctor's side
when he eventually stopped rolling told him he had landed on top of the ice. A gurgled cough
forced its way up his throat and his chest burned in protest to the movement. But he had to
get up. His arms didn't want to move but he forced them to take his weight as he propped
himself up on his elbows and knees.

He was too slow. Before he could push himself back to his feet, a boot slammed into his side,
crashing against his ribs and sending him sprawling across the ice. All he could manage was
a moan as the looming figure of himself bore down on him. He couldn't stay there. Nine had
already almost gotten the better of him in that position, he had to get. Up.

With renewed vigor, the Doctor swung his leg around like a windmill, catching Four around
the ankle and bringing him crashing back down to the ground. The creek cracked under the
force of his fall, sending jagged blades of ice skidding across the surface. Before the blades
could conform back into the mass of ice, the Doctor grabbed one and, so fast it didn't even
register with him what he was doing, plunged it into Four's side. He had been aiming for the
chest, but the Zygon had rolled over at the last minute, attempting to stand. Four let out a
howl of pain, features contorted in a scowl of agony the Doctor hoped would never appear on
his own face again, as he scrambled defiantly away from the Doctor.
The blade quickly melted, a streak of purple blood-stained water flowing from the wound
like an underground spring, but the jagged edges had done their job. Four stumbled as he
tried to right himself, one hand pressed to his side as he glared pain-filled daggers at the
Doctor. Motivated by anger, frustration, and now pain, Four growled low in his throat and
charged the Doctor again. He threw a kick - which missed - and then a punch - which
didn'tmiss. The Doctor staggered backwards, clutching his now throbbing jaw and fighting
off the stars dancing before his eyes. Four didn't stop. He pressed forward, aiming another
kick to the Doctor's abdomen.

The Doctor side-stepped his heel just barely and ended up facing the same way as Four just
behind him. Immediately he swung his right fist up, catching Four beneath the chin, and
drove upwards until his elbow was completely extended. He heard a crunch as Four's jaw
fractured, and the next moment the Doctor's left hand was jabbing ruthlessly into the fresh,
open wound on the Zygon's side. Four screamed in pain, knees giving out, but once again
knocked the back of the Doctor's knee out as he went down. The Doctor toppled over as well,
landing on top of Four in a graceless heap. It had to be adrenaline keeping Four going as he
thrust his knee up and caught the Doctor right in the stomach. The Doctor groaned and fell to
his side, quickly rolling as far as he could away from Four until he could get his bearings
again when...

A flash of blue shot passed him and pounced on Four. 'Pounced' was the best word the Doctor
could use to describe it. A giant blue cat-like creature appeared as if from no where and
pinned Four down against the hard ice. Four screamed again as the cat hissed loudly in his
face, mouth open to show off rows of incredibly, dangerously sharp teeth. Purple blood
erupted along his shoulder and chest where it's claws dug mercilessly into his skin, and the
Doctor didn't even have time to look away before those teeth sank into the flesh on Four's
neck. Four shrieked and writhed, but the cat could not be displaced. It ripped it's teeth out
savagely, bringing with it a good amount of purple-stained skin and muscle, which it spat out
with unconcealed disgust. Four's screams had turned to gurgled gasps as more and more of
his life-fluid drained from the artery in his neck and pooled beneath him on the ice. The cat
slashed his chest open with one giant paw anyway, and Four fell silent forever.

A tense moment of silence followed as the feline stood over it's prey, tail twitching in
anticipation of Four showing anymore signs of life. When the Zygon, of course, stayed still
and dead, the cat spun around to face the Doctor, amber eyes slanted and filled with fury.

"Whoa, whoa, whoa..." The Doctor started, holding his hands up in a sign of surrender he
hoped the newcomer understood. "Easy, it's okay, I'm me, I'm just me."

The cat leapt off Four's chest and prowled towards the Doctor, each of it's paws the size of
dinner plates and armed with vicious claws. The Doctor resisted the urge to back away, to
run, and instead met the creature's eyes, hands still drawn up. "You're a Sinjuray, right?" He
tried, making an attempt at sounding conversational even as his voice shook slightly with
exhaustion and anxiety. "Aren't you? And Sinjuray hate reflections, yes? It's okay, I'm not the
reflection, he is, the Zygon."

The cat - no, Sinjuray - paused and tossed a glance over her shoulder at the Doctor's
motionless double. A threatening growl rumbled in her throat at the sight of it.
"You've been hunting him, haven't you?" The Doctor continued. "Had to get him out of the
competition - your only true weakness, wasn't he?" Moving slowly, the Doctor made it onto
his knees, holding out a placating hand. "It's okay, you've got him. You've got him."

His voice became quieter, more reassuring as he saw the tension in the Sinjuray's powerful
shoulders release a bit. But all too soon the Sinjuray twisted back around to face him, hissing
angrily as the fur along her spine stood on end. Her tail twitched as if she were about to
pounce again. She didn't believe him.

"Look! See?" The Doctor bent his arm to show her his elbow, along which the skin had been
split open by one of the rocks and was now smeared and oozing orange-red blood. "It's not
purple. Zygon's bleed purple, don't they? I'm the original, please just..." He looked her in the
eye and saw the hatred, the dominance, and the pride all swirling around a base emotion: fear.
The same emotion they were all feeling, being thrown into this arena. The Doctor let his
shoulders sag. "I can't beat you." He admitted. "I can't...but I also don't want to try. You..." He
sighed. "You are simply gorgeous."

And she was. The Doctor wasn't just saying that in some deluded endeavor to win the feline's
favor. The creature's blue fur was speckled with black spots, almost like that of Earth's
cheetahs, and despite her obvious muscle and irrefutable strength, her body was lean and
lithe, graceful even as she stood there contemplating his death. Her eyes were honey-colored
and sparkling with intelligence as they stared each other down, sizing the other competitor
up.

"I'm so sorry you're stuck in here." The Doctor finally breathed. Sinjuray were proud, strong
creatures, but they were, in essence, companion creatures. On their own they lived in close-
knit packs and mated with each other for life, and after foreign species began coming to their
planet of origin, instead of fighting and generating hostilities between them, the Sinjuray
accepted worthy members into their own herds, regardless of species. They craved
companionship and when treated with kindness could become the most loyal and dependable
of partners. The fact that whoever must have entered her into the Trials most likely broke that
trust and betrayed her devotion made the Doctor's blood boil.

The Sinjuray's head lowered slightly, as if accepting his word that he wasn't the enemy, but
her ears remained pinned back and her tail continued with swish threateningly. The Doctor
nodded and gently lowered his hands. Without taking her eyes off him, the Sinjuray -
Competitor number Six the Doctor finally remembered - moved back around in a large arch
to stand beside Four's head. She sank her teeth into his shoulder, this time a little more
carefully, and dragged the body off the ice and onto shore. The Doctor watched curiously as
Six dropped Four's body and began kicking over rocks with her paws until his face was
buried beneath a large mound, hiding the fact that his features were the same as the Doctor's.
The Sinjuray had always had the strangest aversion towards reflections; they would not enter
a room with a mirror in it and none had ever been know to companion with anyone who was
a twin. No one really knew the reason behind it...

The Doctor snapped back out of his thoughts at what sounded like sandpaper running over
stone. It took him a moment to realize it was actually Six's tongue scrapping over the ice a
few yards upstream, far out of the Doctor's reach and away from the blood-soiled surface
 around him. She was licking desperately at the ice, trying to capture some of the moisture on
her rough tongue to no avail. After a moment of prepping his sore body to move, the Doctor
hoisted himself back to his feet and, grabbing a rock, stumbled upstream to sit across the
creek from her.

Sensing his motion, Six jerked her head up and growled low again, ears tipping back and
forth in a warning the Doctor thoroughly ignored, although he didn't try to get any closer. He
sat cross-legged on the shore and held the stone out in his open palm, trying to show he
wasn't about to use it as a weapon.

"This is how you do it." He instructed and showed her how to separate the ice chips from the
rest of the ice. At first Six's eyes were angled with distrust, but eventually they softened as
she watched him lift a palm-full of liquid water to his lips and passively offer her the stone.
She gave a hiss-like sneer that wasn't quite as fueled with venom as it had been moments
before and instead used her claws to pry up bits of ice, catching them on her opposite paw
and licking the water off feverishly. The Doctor drank his own fill and sat back, letting his
stiff and aching muscles relax. Somewhere in his mind the Doctor knew he needed to get
back within the cover of the trees, but when Six stiffened and glanced over her shoulder,
bending into a crouch at the sound of a twig snapping, the Doctor found himself saying, "It's
okay, I'll watch your back." Six shot him another calculating glance, and then slowly her eyes
softened just a little bit more, watching him for the first time without skepticism or paranoia,
and went back to drinking, occasionally throwing him a look as if to make sure he was still
there.

The Doctor couldn't help but think he may have just earned himself a very formidable ally.

Chapter End Notes

1 – Sontaran

2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes

3 – Small female with sharp eyes

4 – Zygon

5 – Male with four-arms

6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)

7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin

8 – Vampire-like female

9 – Male with scales, talon like hands

10 – The Doctor!

11 – Female Aonian

12 – Tentacles
 Chapter 48
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

There are very few things the Doctor is not good at.

Baking cupcakes, for example, or any other kind of domestics that involved having an actual
kitchen and a house that didn't travel through time and space were big no-nos. Dancing the
Veritacian Limbo was definitely high up there on the list as well, along with maintaining any
semblance of dignity after only a few sips of Malorce 5's infamous Dirty Dalek cocktail and
keeping his slightly crooked nose out of global catastrophes and invasions.

Perhaps highest on that list, however, was suffering through long-enduring silences.

Six was brilliant. She was strong and fast and smart - all of which the Doctor could tell after
only a few minutes tagging along with her. But as far as talking went, she was hardly a good
conversationalist. For the most part, the Doctor was pretty sure she couldn't actually speak.
Or at least she couldn't speak any verbal language the Doctor could understand. It wasn't too
difficult to decipher her body language - the way her ears shifted back and forth, how her tail
twitched and swayed, the manner in which her shoulders rolled as she moved and her head
tilted at she thought - but apart from the occasional growl or hiss, she made no other sound.

Not that there was much time for talking. After she had drunk her fill, Six leapt into action.
She sprang into a slow run at first, going only a few strides out before stopping and turning
back, looking with a small measure of distrust to see if the Doctor would follow. And there he
was, slowing to a stop himself alongside her at a safe distance of ten feet away. He didn't
want to crowd her, but he also didn't want to get too close himself. The Doctor had seen those
claws in action, saw how easily they could shred through skin and how quickly those jaws
could snap and those teeth could rip.

Six looked mildly surprised that he had managed to keep up with her long strides, but the
look was quickly wiped from her slanted, feline features and a mask of guarded indifference
replaced it. She inclined her head - as if to say "Alright, you can come" - and took off once
again. The Doctor wasn't about to let an alliance slip by him - even a tentative and distrustful
one. He was already feeling the dreaded pull of loneliness, and having another competitor on
his side would keep him focused and prepared, give him a goal besides fighting and killing. If
he could help someone else survive this ordeal, how could he be expected to pass that up?

Somewhere, the Doctor was sure, Jancon was staring at a screen and shaking his silver head
at his competitor's soft heart. That small bit of rebellion was just the spark he needed to sprint
after Six, a smirk gently twisting his features.

They had been running for nearly two hours now. Their pace was no longer a sprint, but Six's
gait was incredibly long and the Doctor was starting to have to push himself to keep up. His
legs were beginning to burn and his lungs ached as he drew in each shallow breath. Usually
he would have been able to go much longer than two hours, especially after all the training
he'd just gone through back at the estate, but the little sleep he got and the lack of food was
starting to take it's toll. The pair stayed mostly with the tree line, running within the shade of
their branches and away from the prying eyes of the sky, but they kept the creek just within
view to their left. It twisted and turned through the slight hills, as frozen as ever, but for now,
at least, it was running in the same direction as they were. the Doctor felt his eyes lingering
on the silver surface of the ice more and more, tongue parched and throat rough. His shins
were starting to feel like someone had taken a battle axe to them and was ramming the dull
edge against the bone with each step he took. Hating himself, he knew he needed a break.

Six raced beside him just out of arms reach, legs coiling beneath her and then springing out in
a full-bodied gallop. At moments, all four paws would be off the ground. She still appeared
fresh and energized, as if she could keep going for hours more. The Doctor just had to push
himself farther. Pumping his arms a little harder, he managed to pick up the pace a bit. His
entire body seemed to groan as he forced himself to keep up. Somewhere in the recesses of
his mind, a memory suddenly flared up of treadmills and cattle prods and metal grated floors.
He imagined the cattle prod coming towards him, urging him to keep running upon threat of
pain. It had worked then, it had kept him running far longer than he was capable of or willing
to do, so why shouldn't it work now?

Because you have your own will now, something told him from another corner of his mind.
At the thought, the Doctor slowed a bit, mesmerized for some reason by the idea. He had his
own will, so why was he running to the point of collapsing again? That couldn't be healthy?
How was killing himself going to help him win the Trials?

The answer was obviously obvious - Obviously obvious, the Doctor thought with an internal
laugh, what a fun saying - and he saw no reason why they should keep running after all. They
weren't chasing anyone, no one was chasing them, and pretty soon they would have to stop
and check they were even still going in the right direction anyway.

The Doctor raised his hand to shoulder height as he slowed his pace, asking silently for Six's
attention. He saw her ears flick backwards and eyes tilt towards him in annoyance, but
nevertheless her pace slowed. Gradually they both came down to a jog, and then a walk. Six
barely seemed to be breathing hard, but it wasn't until then that the Doctor realized just how
loudly he was gasping for breath. A spot between his ribs started to ache each time he inhaled
and he pressed a hand to it. Six's ears angled down questioningly.

"I think -" The Doctor gasped, cutting himself off to take a few breathes in between words. "I
think - we could use - a short break - yeah?"

The Doctor could have sworn Six rolled her eyes at that, but she inclined her head again
nonetheless. The Doctor nodded his thanks in return before stumbling down the hill towards
the creek, graceful as ever.

Six remained at the top of the ledge just outside the shade. She paced back and forth, eyes
scanning the area, as the Doctor knelt beside the ice and chipped away at it, freeing one tiny
sip at a time. His hearts quickly slowed down their frantic beating, recovering fast as he'd
been trained to do. A few mouthfuls of the clear, cold liquid was all he really needed, but the
Doctor washed down a few more chunks of ice, knowing that soon their path would have to
verge away from the water source.
His stomach contracted and gurgled as he drank, water now being the only thing in his gut.
The Doctor was feeling the hunger more keenly now, but he doubted Six would be up for
stopping again for a while. The sun still had five or six hours left in the sky, and with her
feline eyes the Doctor was sure she would still be able to see in the dark and wish to keep
going. Despite the scene she'd made with Four, the Sinjuray undoubtedly preferred being a
runner to a fighter. Her species was one of peace - which, the Doctor reminded himself as he
watched her powerful, muscular silhouette march across the hillside, was once earned and
maintained through ferocity and blood.

Regardless, he did agree with her tactic: getting to the finish line was the priority, then you
could deal with any obstacles that get in your way.

The Doctor chipped one more piece of ice off the creek and raised the now liquefied chunk to
the wound on his neck. Carefully, he rubbed the water into the gash, trying to keep as much
of the liquid in his hand as possible, cleaning out the cut as best he could. Once satisfied, he
pushed himself back to his sore feet, wiping the sleeve of his black shirt across his mouth.

"You should drink, too." He told Six, who jumped at the sound of his voice and spun around
with a feral hiss. Apparently she hadn't been expecting him to approach her again. The
Doctor kept his features calm and relaxed, showing her she had nothing to fear from him.
"The finish line will be off to the west, and the map showed the river turning south-east
eventually. We should hydrate while we can."

The snarl was slow to dissipate, but eventually only Six's eyes were scowling, not her face.
She took a wider path than necessary around the Time Lord before bounding down to the
creek, leaping over a narrow section so she wouldn't be drinking with her back to him. The
Doctor just gave her another nod as she glanced, distrustfully, back up at him before digging
one of her claws into the ice, prying up a thick splinter, and catching it in her mouth.

The Doctor scanned the ridge, just as Six had while he was drinking, taking in any potential
threats. The trees were thinning out now, giving way to long blades of thin, almost gold-
colored grass and clusters of large gray rocks. The change of scenery was more than a little
concerning - less trees meant less coverage, and only about twenty minutes earlier they had
heard the mechanical hum of a snatcher's ship vibrating through the air. The good news was
that the engines sounded quiet and far away, never crossing their path directly. Neither had
the Doctor needed to cancel an injection. Apparently it had been a slow morning for the
mercenaries playing cat and mouse with their unwilling toys. He kept his eyes peeled
nonetheless, searching the ground, the remaining trees, and sky of any enemies. None of the
competitors in the ship's hold appeared to have wings or the ability to fly, but he didn't want
to take any chances.

His stomach grumbled again, angry and insistent. There was nothing but dirt, bark, and what
looked like pine needles but smelled like peppered fennel in the area; nothing he was starving
enough to attempt eating, that was. He reached into one of his pockets, fingers fiddling with
the edge of the nutrition pack which held the five remaining pills. He would be able to last a
few more hours before needing something, and he weighed the pros and cons of popping one
of the bland white pills in right now. They weren't all that encouraging. Pro: He wouldn't die
of starvation that night. Con: He would still feel like he was dying of starvation that night.
Choosing to ignore them for now, the Doctor slipped his hand into a different pocket, pulling
out the compass. He spun on the spot slowly, watching the arrow spin around the tallied edge.
They were heading a little too south - the creek must have already started to verge off course.
They would have to leave it soon and start going true west until they reached the ravine
etched on the map. It was a good thing they stopped when they did.

Something blue caught the corner of the Doctor's eye and he swiveled around, clutching the
compass tight in his fist as they rose up automatically into a fighter's stance. Six stood there
at the top of the slope a few feet away, eyes glistening in harsh amusement. "Don't like it
when it happens to you, either?"

The Doctor tucked the compass securely back into his pocket and ignored the look. "We're
going to have to start heading west soon." He said, pointing in the correct direction. "I'd give
us another half hour or so before the river bends too far south to keep following. Did you
drink enough?"

Six inclined her head again. At least the Sinjuray had no problem understanding him; that
would have caused all sorts of fun charades games. How exactly does one mime out 'Please
don't eat me, I'm old and bitter and in love' in a universal language?

The answer didn't come to him, but his stomach decided just then to pipe in with its own
form of a universal language. The rumble started low and raised to a crescendo,
embarrassingly loud. Clearly his belly didn't like the fact that the only thing it had been fed in
over thirty hours was water and blood. Six's head tilted to the side, not out of annoyance this
time, but from confusion and - no, that can't be right - concern(?).

The Doctor just gave an apologetic wince. "Yeah, sorry, haven't really had a chance to - "

What he was going to say next got jammed in his throat as a sudden shrill, piercing, inhuman
scream rent the air. The Doctor's hearts froze, his blood ran cold. Six snarled and spat,
jumping back and falling immediately into a defensive crouch with her tail raised and bristled
above her arched back. His eyes darted back and forth between the trees trying to find he
source of it when,

Another scream, not quite as shrill as the first but a deeper, more drawn out cry of agony
punctuated with loud, breathy gasps the Doctor's ears could only just pick up. Whoever it was
was close, which meant so was the attacker. Six gave a low growl of unease.

Pressing a finger to his lips, the Doctor pointed in the direction of the scream. Curiosity and -
no, he would not admit it - terror propelled him forward, down the rest of the slight hill and
over the creek onto the other side. The scream sounded like it had come from just over the
ridge, which from where the Doctor stood appeared to fall off abruptly. He crept up the side
of the hill, registering the movement of blue behind him as Six leaping over the water,
keeping low to the ground. He dropped all the way down as his suspicion was confirmed - the
hill ended in a cliff about eight meters tall. And the cry had come from just below where he
crouched now.

Six crawled up beside him, hunter-silent, as the Doctor managed to pull himself as close to
the edge as he dared. The scene that appeared beneath him made his hearts stutter and leap
into his throat. Eleven slouched weakly within the hold of what looked like a humanoid rock
wall, supported beneath the shoulders as her knees crumbled uselessly beneath her. The
coloring on her skin was patchy and scattered as if trying to capture multiple different
backgrounds at once, and for a moment it flickered like an image on a scratched DVD before
stopping all together and melting into demoralized red. She looked so much like Lalay in that
moment the Doctor almost couldn't breath.

Eleven wasn't alone though. Another figure, slight but surprisingly tall with hair as dark as
pitch that contrasted too sharply with her ivory-white skin, stood directly in front of her, her
cruel smile visible even from afar. Two streaks of black liquid dribbled down competitor
number Eight's chin, perfectly matching the twin holes in Eleven's neck that oozed out the
same colored blood. Eight ran her tongue over the sharp edges of her cuspids and down over
her bloodstained lips. It didn't take a genius to figure out what had happened.

Then the Doctor heard the rock wall rumble, a noise that almost sounded like a laugh, and
realized he was looking at competitor number Seven - or 'Rocky' as the Doctor so fondly
named him on the shuttle ride over. "It's getting heavy." Seven thundered, his voice sounding
like an earthquake.

"Good." Replied Eight. "Are you getting sleepy, dear?" She cooed as she sauntered even
closer to Eleven, who visibly tried to shrink away but didn't seem capable of doing anything
more than whimpering loudly. "Do you feel like telling us now?"

"I-I d-d-don't know." Her words were slurred and trembling as if it were a battle just to say
them. "I h-haven't see-seen him."

"Liar." Eight hissed as she struck out and grabbed Eleven's chin in her long, chalk-white
fingers. She leaned in close as if to bite again, but instead pressed her nose against the hollow
beneath Eleven's ear. Eleven gave a choked cry and screwed her eyes shut, trying desperately
to lean away from Eight's terrifying teeth. For some reason she didn't seem able to move, and
the Doctor wondered what else those teeth were good for beside shredding and tearing.

Those teeth were out again, scrapping against the thin skin along her neck, barely needing
pressure to rip through and create two lines of bleeding black. Eleven cried out in anguish
again, head thrown back against Seven's solid chest as he gave an earth-shaking chuckle.
Without even realizing it, the Doctor pushed himself onto his hands and knees, getting ready
to -

Something slammed into his back, pinning him to the ground. The air was driven from his
lungs with a pained "oof" and for a second it felt like his spine was going to snap. Something
heavy was pressed between his shoulder blades, making regaining his breath an almost
impossible struggle.

A low, threatening growl was rumbled directly into his ear and the Doctor's entire body
tensed. He had forgotten about Six sitting so close to him, her own sharp fangs perilously
close to his neck. He chanced a glance in her direction, eyes swiveling around as far as they
could with his face pressed into the ground, to see her amber orbs glaring at him not with
hatred or anger, but in warning. "Don't move. Don't make a noise."
For a brief moment the Doctor felt a flare of anger and almost burst out, "She needs our
help!" before realizing...what exactly was he planning on doing? Jumping down the nearly
thirty foot cliff? Taking on Drusilla and Rocky all by himself? Provided the fall didn't break
his legs, much less paralyze or kill him, he honestly didn't believe he would come out on top
of that situation. Seven was quite literally a mountain, and Eight was...well, nightmare
worthy to say the least.

After a short staring contest the Doctor finally nodded his agreement. But Six's paw stayed
firmly planted on his back, clearly not trusting him to keep his word. Whether her caution
was out of concern for his own well-being, or worry that his outburst would draw their
attention to her instead, the Doctor wasn't sure, but he really wished she would at least ease
up on the pressure.

"I smell him on you." Eight was speaking again. The Doctor turned his attention back to the
crowd below. Eight licked a line of blood off Elevens collarbone with a satisfied and sinister
smirk. "He smells as pretentious and haughty as his owner. Now tell me," She moved her grip
from Eleven's chin to her throat and glowered. "Where is Jancon Ligtech's pet?"

For the third time that day, the Doctor's hearts stopped. He felt like the ground beneath him
had fallen away, leaving him floating above a fatally long fall. The heavy paw on his back
tensed and he felt the sting of four claw slightly - probably subconsciously - pierce through
the fabric of his shirt and nick his skin. If it weren't for the rushing sound in his ears, though,
he probably would have cared a lot more.

"I d-d-don't kn-n-know." Eleven all but sobbed. Her body was completely limp at this point,
but tremors ran throughout it, making her limbs convulse and shake. Seven gave an ungodly
roar and shook her even harder, boulder-sized hands clamped around her upper-arms. Eleven
cried out again. "I don't! We t-talked! That's all! He r-r-ran one way and I went t-th-the other!
Please! I swear!"

"When was this?" Eight questioned unkindly, removing her hand from Eleven's throat.

The Aonian girl sobbed openly. "Y-y-yesterday. P-please..."

"Was he following the water?"

Eleven didn't respond, just trembled and cringed away. The Doctor had seen it earlier: she
was a runner, not a fighter. She would never have been able to compete with these two. Her
owner was cruel for even trying.

Eight struck out and slapped her across the face. "Was he. Following. The water?" She
enunciated each word with a hiss.

"Yes! I th-think so! Please!"

Eight made a short nodding motion towards Seven, who released Eleven only long enough to
move his hands to either side of her head and twist. The crack was near deafening to the
Doctor. Eleven's trembling stopped. The red of her skin vanished, replaced by empty, hollow
white.
 Seven pushed the body away and she fell like an unstrung puppet, crumpling to the ground.
He pointed a stony finger at the heap. "You going to feed on it?"

Eight made a face and wiped the back of her hand across her chin, rubbing away the Eleven's
black blood. "No. It tastes disgusting. Just leave it, the worms are even going to want that
crap."

The Doctor and Six watched in horrified silence as the pair turned and left, Eight still
scrubbing blood off her lips. It took a moment for the Doctor to realize he was panting, chest
heaving and pressing further into the dirt as if he'd just run a few extra miles. He felt sick,
and he couldn't tell if it was hunger or horror that left the hollow, gnawing feeling in his
stomach. He was being hunted. Specifically. They were searching for him. Targeting him.
Jancon's Pet.

The paw retracted from his back, but it did nothing to help him breath. He still felt as if no
oxygen was reaching his lungs. He turned his head, not daring to move any more, to find Six
staring at him, her eyes wide and questioning with the familiar glint of distrust. She had
clearly understood everything Eight was saying, everything that was going on at the bottom
of the cliff. And she was asking him, silently, the same question the Doctor was asking
himself.

"Why?"

The Doctor wasn't even able to shrug. He felt numb and abuzz all at the same time, hearts
beating a million miles a minute, breath constricted, stomach rolling. All he could do was
shake his head, eyebrows furrowed.

"I have no idea."

Chapter End Notes

1 – Sontaran

2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes

3 – Small female with sharp eyes

4 – Zygon

5 – Male with four-arms

6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)

7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin

8 – Vampire-like female
9 – Male with scales, talon like hands

10 – The Doctor!

11 – Female Aonian

12 – Tentacles
 Chapter 49
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

"Wait, wait, wait..."

The Doctor pleaded as he collapsed against a tree trunk, fingers grasping at the bark as his
legs threatened to give out. Black spots danced across his vision and he screwed his eyes shut
against the dizzying tilt of the world around him. He clung onto the trunk, nails digging
almost painfully into the soft bark to keep his body from crumbling to the ground. "I
can't...just...a moment." He panted heavily into the wood.

Six slowed to a walk and circled back from where she'd run a few feet ahead. For once she
didn't look completely impervious to the fact that they'd just been sprinting flat-out for the
better part of two hours. Her blue fur was dampened with sweat and her fanged jaw hung
open slightly as she breathed more erratically than before. Six glanced over her shoulder in
the direction they'd just been running from, ears quirked forward, then turned back to the
Doctor. She looked him over with amber eyes that seemed to shine and glow in the fading
light and nodded once. The Doctor sighed with relief and allowed himself to collapse to the
ground, breathing hard. They'd been running harder than ever, trying to put as much distance
between themselves and Seven and Eight as possible. But as the sun sank lower, so did the
Doctor's stamina, until he was tripping and stumbling over thin air and was blinded by spots
of darkness dancing before his eyes.

With a huff, Six began to prowl back and forth in front of the Doctor. Pacing seemed to bring
the Sinjuray comfort, the Doctor noticed, as her breathing slowed gradually and her steps
became more relaxed. Thinking back, he wasn't sure she'd ever seen her stand still, unless it
was the deadly stillness that came over the feline right before a pounce. Occasionally she
would glance back up their path, shift her ears, or raise her head and sniff the air. Once he
finally managed to catch his breath again, the Doctor asked, "Can you smell them?"

The Sinjuray turned to look at him and, after a moment of consideration, moved her head
back and forth. It was a strange movement for her, made awkward by her short neck, but at
least she was making attempts to speak in a language the Doctor understood, which was more
than the Time Lord could say himself.

The Doctor nodded and went back to focusing on keeping his breath even, which proved to
be painfully difficult when his stomach kept churning and spasming every few seconds. The
hunger pains were getting worse, and even though he knew they wouldn't help relieve the
ache, the Doctor reaching into his pocket and fished out the little package of white pills. He
needed something just to keep him going. He had never felt hunger so intense so quickly.
Back in Eyal he had gone nearly a full week without anything but water and the occasional
crust of stolen bread. Here, however, he was living a different story. Maybe it was the
constant running, the constant worrying, the constant fearing that made his metabolism rocket
and his stomach clench with need, but he was quickly finding himself in a place where he
couldn't worry about anything else besides filling the gaping hole inside him.
The packet popped open and with shaking fingers the Doctor poured one nutrients capsule
into the palm of his hand. Six padded towards him curiously, head tilted to the side and ears
slightly tipped down. Her nose twitched as she sniffed the air around the Doctor's hand.
Confused, the Time Lord opened his fingers, which at some point he had balled into a fist,
and Six came the closest she'd ever been to him voluntarily to nose at the white pill and -

With a snarl, she raised her paw and swatted at the Doctor's hand. He just barely managed to
jerk his arm back in time - thanks to his Time Lord reflexes - so her half-extended claws
missed his knuckles by a hair. "Whoa, hey!" The Doctor protested indignantly as he cradled
his hand against his chest. "What was that for?"

Six hissed, narrowing her round, amber eyes as she glared at where the capsule hid beneath
his protective fingers. "It's a nutrition pill." The Doctor explained without releasing his grip.
"One capsule holds enough vitamins and nutrients to get the average humanoid through a day
without needing food. Well, I say needing food, but really it's more like - "

Another hiss as Six awkwardly shook her head again. The Doctor just frowned. "I...I don't
understand." He hated to admit. "Is it...not?" He couldn't see how that could be. It had worked
before. He was still starving, but his basic functions had endure throughout the day. Had the
pills not contained the proper nutrients they should, he would have dropped a lot sooner than
he had.

Reluctantly, the Doctor stretched out his hand, fingers uncurling from around the capsule as
he offered it silently to the Sinjuray. Six nosed it gently, sniffing the round white tablet,
before leaning back and baring her teeth. The Doctor felt his stomach drop.

"Poison?"

Six shook her head.

"Drugged?"

After another quick sniff, Six backed away and gave the Doctor a telling look. And for some
reason, all the Doctor could do was laugh. It was a hollow, broken, groan of a laugh, but he
couldn't keep it from bubbling up as his lips cracked into a mirthless grin. He let his hand fall
limply, knuckles bouncing off the dirt by his side and sending the dismaying pill leaping out
of his palm. The Doctor let his head fall back against the tree trunk as his laughter wore itself
out as quickly as it had come.

"Really, Jancon?" He called to no one in particular, face tilted towards the sky as if his master
were looking down on him from the steadily rising moon. "Really? This is how you think
you're going to win? You're a bigger fool than I ever imagined."

His voice pitched in the middle of the last sentence as his stomach seized angrily. He curled
his legs up closer to his body, instinctively folding into a fetal position against the tree. That
might explain his exhaustion and heightened metabolism. If there was something in those
pills his body wasn't used to and was attacking him from the inside out, it could temporarily
halt his natural defenses against starvation and asphyxiation. He felt the ghost of Nine's
fingers around his throat, the creature's body on his chest pressing the oxygen from his lungs,
and remembered how his respiratory bypass had failed to kick in fast enough. How he was
succumbing to hunger far faster than he should without the auto-reserves fueling his system.
But...why? What would be the point?

"I'm going to die." He suddenly found himself saying, eyes sliding shut as if half expecting it
to happen as soon as the realization hit him. He felt only slightly pathetic wallowing in his
own tragic demise, even if only for a moment. "The last of the Time Lords, lone survivor of
the Last Great Time War, starved to death as a slave."

Six, who had begun pacing again, merely rolled her eyes. As if being able to sense it, the
Doctor cracked open his own with a self-conscious wince. "...Bit overdramatic?"

Six didn't deign him with an answer. Instead, she stopped her pacing and eyed the tree at the
Doctor's back. Then, calmly and collectedly, She crouched low and leapt. The Doctor gave a
startled shout and ducked as the cat landed and latched onto the tree trunk only a foot above
where the Doctor's head had just been, bits of bark raining down on him as she clawed her
way up and into the tangle of branches overhead.

By the time the tip of Six's black and blue striped tail disappeared within the leaves, the
Doctor could barely hear her anymore. He sat there in a sort of stunned stupor as the eerie
silence pressed against him, almost too afraid to breath in case he broke whatever bizarre
spell just fell on the night. His lips had fallen into a comical 'o' as his eyes darted from one
branch to another. "Ummm...Six?" The Doctor winced at calling the Sinjuray by a number
rather than a name, but there was no helping it.

No response. The Doctor waited with baited breath, not entirely sure what had just happened
or what he was expected to do next. The silence stretched on until, suddenly, an ear-splitting
SQUAWK broke the air. The Doctor jerked his head up as the branches erupted with
movement and three birds - large, frantic, and the exact color of the leaves - burst from the
leaf cover and shot into the sky. And then there was Six, launching herself after them, body
stretched out in flight as her front claws reached for the frightened birds. Two of them
managed to flap their way to safety out of the cat's grasp, but one was not so lucky. Six
snatched the bird out of the air with both front paws and with liquid fluidity twisted over in
thin air, moving her catch to her mouth just in time to touch back down to the ground,
graceful as ever.

The Doctor just stared as Six walked casually over to him and dropped the bird in his lap.
The creature was dead, neck snapped and very little blood on its moss-colored feathers.
Unable to think of any other response, the Doctor just glanced up at Six and said, "Well, now,
that was over dramatic."

The night was inexplicably quite by the time the Doctor finished off the last of the bird. He
collapsed backwards with a satisfied groan, savoring the lingering taste of the strangely sweet
meat, and felt pleasantly full for the first time in days.

Six was laying a little ways off on the other side of the slowly dying fire the Doctor used to
cook the bird. Blood stained her front paws where she gripped the last remaining bit of a
creature that once looked like a large rabbit, ripping strips of flesh from the delicate bones.
She, of course, didn't bother with the fire, preferring her meat raw, fresh, and bloody.

The Doctor had no idea where she found their prey. Though he could sometimes hear the
faint trill of birds in the trees during the day, he had never actually seen one, nor had he seen
traces of those rabbit-like animals. He had come across the tracks of a much larger, much
heavier animal on his first day in the arena, but the prints had been old and without any
proper weapons or hunting gear it would probably have been incredibly difficult to take down
a creature that the Doctor guessed had to be some sort of bear-sized deer. How that was
hiding from sight was a whole other question.

Six finished off her rabbit-thing and spat the last long bone out of their little ring of fire light.
Even though she sat on the other side of the campfire, as far away from him as she could
while still feeling the flame's warmth, Six seemed far more relaxed. She sniffed the air, her
tail twitching testingly before falling still.

"No one nearby?"

As if to answer, Six rolled onto her side, wiggling and stretching with her eyes closed. The
Doctor had to hold in a laugh. She looked very much like an oversized housecat at that
moment, but he had a tickling feeling that if Six ever found out he thought that she'd
redecorate his face with her claws. The claws already painted with blood, which she was now
licking off with her large, rough tongue.

"Shouldn't think so, there can't be many of us left." The Doctor kept going as he
absentmindedly itched at the spot on his left arm. The alert had flared up a few minutes
earlier – another snatcher doing their job – eliciting a sharp hiss from the Doctor as he had
forgotten, once again, just how strong the warning pulse was. The sound caused Six to glance
in his direction, amber orbs glistening with questions, but the Doctor managed to pass it off
as accidentally burning himself on the still hot bird and the topic was dropped.

"We know the Sontaran – Number One – was taken," He continued as he settled onto his
back, shifting away a stone that was stabbing into his shoulder. The stars flickered and
winked above them, weird constellations in weird places. It took the Doctor a few moments
to figure out where, exactly, they were in the galaxy. Judging from the location of the
quadrants, it was far, far away from Rose.

"He's probably dead by now. That's why the Zygon had to take a new form –" Six growled at
the mention of the globby impersonator. The Doctor huffed. " – Yeah, that was embarrassing.
I definitely shouldn't wear all black; I didn't realize how washed-out it makes me look."

The Sinjuray growled again, although this time it sounded more exasperated than angry. The
Doctor held back another snort. "And now we know the Zygon's dead, thanks to you." Six
grunted agreeably. "Along with the Aonian." The image of Eight sinking her unnatural teeth
into the girl's throat made the Doctor shudder and shut his eyes to the stars stares. Those last
two deaths he had seen in person, and the death of the Sontaran was easily confirmed by
Four's need for a new body to impersonate, but he'd felt the virus being release three times
now. One of those was the Sontaran, but the other two…there was no way for him to know.
Hopefully, if the anti-virus worked, they were still alive but out of the running.
 "Do you know of any others?" The Doctor asked out loud. Six looked at him curiously. "Just
so we know what we're up against."

Six considered for a moment before unsheathing her now clean claws and digging them into
the ground. The Doctor had to lean up on one arm to see what she was doing from around the
fire. Nine deep gashes had been dug into the dirt. "Number Nine?" A flash of talons and
scales flitted across the Doctor's memory. His throat was still achy and sore from the
encounter. Six nodded and then slashed another line through the others. "Dead?" Six nodded.
"You killed him?" Shaking her head awkwardly, the Sinjuray drew three more lines in the
dirt. "Three killed him? Which one was Three again?"

Six shot him a glare with no real fire in it, but the Doctor understood. Yes, that question was
probably a bit too intricate for their weird game of Pictionary. "Was that the female with the
strange eyes or the male with four arms?" Six blinked at him pointedly and that seemed to be
her answer. "Alright, so four-arms was probably number Five then. Blimey…" The Doctor
collapsed again. "Once we get out of here, I never want to hear another number ever again."

Six yawned in agreement. Glancing over at her, the Doctor saw the great cat's eyes drooping
slightly, as if she were fighting to stay awake. Her shoulders were less tense than before and
her tail twitched almost leisurely, getting more comfortable where she lay, but her ears were
still pitched forward, listening and aware. It made the Doctor wonder, "When was the last
time you got any sleep?"

Six's whole body lurched at the question. She glared at him for a moment, clearly trying to
analyze what he meant by the question, but the glare couldn't last. It slowly slipped from her
features as her eyelids slowly began to close again, which was enough of an answer for the
Doctor. "That's what I thought. Get some rest, I'll take first watch."

A low grumble came from Six's throat, but the Doctor cut her off. "You got me dinner,
probably saved my life. Actually, no, you definitely saved my life. That Zygon was starting to
get the upper hand until you came around. So…let me thank you by taking first watch. Now
go to sleep."

Six made another attempt at arguing, but it was only half-hearted and she sounded more like
a child demanding that they weren't actually sleepy than anything else. "Rest. Now." The
Doctor ordered one last time as he sat up and pressed his back to a tree trunk for support.
"And don't worry, I'll wake you up in a few hours anyway. I'm not sacrificing my whole night
for you."

He shot her a smirk at that, which she responded to by baring her sharp teeth, but she was
already settling down with her chin on her front paws, exhaustion clearly working against
her. The Doctor felt it pressing against him as well, but having food in his stomach and
someone to watch over gave him the energy to stay awake, even as Six's breathing evened out
and the Doctor was left, more or less, alone against a night full of enemies.

Chapter End Notes

1 – Sontaran
2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes
3 – Small female with sharp eyes
4 – Zygon
5 – Male with four-arms
6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)
7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin
8 – Vampire-like female
9 – Male with scales, talon like hands
10 – The Doctor!
11 – Female Aonian
12 – Tentacles
 Chapter 50

Rose woke screaming. She would need a few extra pairs of hands and feet in order to count
how many times that had happened over the last few months, but not for a while had it been
so bad. Her heart hammered in her ears and felt as if it was trying to escape her body all
together and instead got lodged somewhere in her throat. How the scream managed to get
past it at all was beyond her.

It took the human a few long, terrified moments to remember where she was. She sat bolt
upright in bed, sheets tangled and twisted around her ankles like woolen shackles, staring into
a room bathed in a strange velvety glow coming from some unknown light source. It was her
room in the Estate, as exquisite and expensive looking as ever, but now the walls seemed to
press against her, closing in, trapping her. The air was too thick, too hot, too absent. Rose
couldn't breathe, even as she panted and gasped, chest heaving with desperate gulps for
oxygen. She felt like she was dying.

Rap, rap, rap.

Rose flinched viciously at the sudden noise, subconsciously pulling the corner of the blanket
further up her chest as her eyes jerked towards the door. There was a slight click and the door
was pushed open half an inch. Rose's heart kept beating faster and faster and faster but her
lungs had forgotten how to breathe. Who was there? What did they want? Did they...did they
want her? She searched around quickly for a weapon, anything, something to protect herself
with, but all she could find were the fluffy slippers she'd taken off next to the bed and the
gemstone necklace the Doctor had given her sitting innocently on the bedside table.

"Rose? Are you decent, my dear?"

The soft cultured voice was familiar, but it did nothing to soothe Rose's post-nightmare terror.
"Y-yes..." She barely managed to whisper.

The door swung open further to reveal Jancon's powder white head and charcoal face. His
features were turned down in a concerned frown as he caught sight of Rose, still clinging to
the edge of the duvet as if it were tethering her to the planet. "May I come in."

Rose didn't bother to give an answer, Jancon was already stepping over the threshold. He
glanced over at her uncertainly, hands shoved deep into the pockets of his midnight blue
dressing gown. "Are you quite alright, Rose? I was passing by and heard a scream coming
from your room."

Unable to meet his piercing white stare, Rose glanced down at her fingers and shrugged.
"Nightmare." She answered simply.

Jancon made a small noise of understanding. Slowly he paced around the bed and perched
carefully on the opposite side of the mattress from where Rose sat. Without thinking about it,
Rose felt herself leaning away, blood seeming to freeze at his proximity. Jancon watched her
skeptically.
"Is it something you wish to talk about?"

He meant it kindly, but Rose couldn't see it that way. She shook her head in a few sharp jerks
and continued refusing to look up. Why did he have to be sitting here, on her bed, in her
room, alone, so close...

"Is it about John?"

"I said I don't want to talk about it." Rose snapped. Horror seeped into her throat the moment
the words left. She hadn't meant to lash out like that! She clutched tighter at the blankets, as if
the warm layers could protect her from whatever incurring wrath was forming inside her
master - no, not master, but the man sitting next to her nonetheless, on her bed, in her room,
alone, so close...so strong. What could he do to her?

The sudden spike of anger was as much a surprise to Jancon as it was to Rose. His eyes
widened at her outburst, eyebrows darting up for a moment. But then his features relaxed,
becoming almost solemn, and he tipped his head down obligingly. "Yes, of course you did.
My apologies, Miss Rose, I simply aimed to help."

Still shaken, Rose just nodded her head. A few seconds of silence passed by them, Rose
silently wishing Jancon would leave, his presence still doing nothing for her lingering night
terrors, when the Prebassador spoke again.

"While we are on the topic, however, you may be pleased to know that your mate has
survived yet another day in the Trials. Of course, there are many horrors of the night that
cannot be taken lightly either, yet John seems to have developed an alliance with the She-Cat
to ward off the dangers of the dark. Provided she doesn't sink her fangs into him while he
sleeps, first."

Making himself comfortable - despite how unwelcome he actually was - Jancon leaned back
into the pillows, arms raised over his head to cradle the back of his neck. Rose didn't move,
not even daring to shift away as he seemed to settle in. "I would not have advised him to
make an alliance such as this." Jancon continued. "Too many variables, too many
opportunities to lower your guard and surrender yourself to a sly and sinister death. But I
must admit I do see the benefits of keeping a companion close, and the She-Cat seems to
have taken a liking to our John. He is quite the charmer, wouldn't you agree?"

"Why are you here." Rose asked hollowly.

Another pause. "I had hoped to comfort you with news of your beloved. You left the viewing
many hours ago seemingly distressed, and then as I pass by your room I found you woken
and terrified by a dream. I had assumed you feared for him and desired reassurance. If I have
been mistaken, forgive me. I have no experience with settling the intense and intricate range
of human emotions."

"Reassurance." Rose repeated, blowing a puff of air out through her nose in a short,
humorless laugh. "You're trying to reassure me by telling me the man I love, the man you
enslaved, survived a day of being attacked, hit, beaten, starved, forced to run for hours, nearly
killed more than once...but oh wait, that was the easy part, for the night is dark and full of
terrors." There was the anger again, rearing it's ugly head and gnashing it's teeth. It was just
so unfair, and the man next to her was the cause of all of it. "And you sit there, actin' like
you're so concerned for his safety, meanwhile you've been poisoning him this whole time."

That was the moment Rose had decided she'd had enough and stormed out of the viewing
room, frustration and rage battling with her newly rediscovered anxiety over everything
around her. She just didn't understand how Jancon could possibly expect to win anything
when he was insistent on handicapping his star player! And that look on the Doctor's face
when he'd realized he had been tricked and infected again...Rose couldn't bare to watch it.
The heavy press of guilt hadn't left her since. In a way, it felt as if she had abandoned him for
real, had turned and ran at the exact moment he really needed her. There was no way the
Doctor could have known Rose was watched, but it still felt like a betrayal to the human girl.

"If you are referring to the pills I provided for John, I had no intention of impeding his health
or safety. I insist, I had no idea of the side effects that would occur." Jancon rolled onto his
side and leaned up on one elbow, watching Rose casually. "You asked me yesterday what
would happen should John be caught by the snatchers. I do not expect you to understand the
politics behind this whole crusade, but I will not lie and try to convince you that I would not
trigger the reaction in his trackers should John become compromised. That being said, I have
not wholeheartedly abandoned him to a horrible fate. While also acting as a nutrients tablet, I
had envisioned that the substances in the pills would help to slow the spread of the virus John
created in the event of his capture. I was attempting to help him, to offer a possible means to
survive. You see, Miss Rose, I am not a cruel man, and I had hoped you would have come to
realize this on your own by now."

"Not cruel? The whip scars on my back say otherwise, the dozen or so on the Doc - on John's
-"

"That was not cruelty, my thorn. A lesson needed to be taught, and often simple words are not
enough to solidify in a slave's mind. And once again, I apologize profusely for bringing you
into that. It had never been my intention to hurt you, Rose, you must know that. You are more
a guest in my home than anything else, and I would hate for you to come in harm's way."

"But that's just your problem." Rose's eyes finally snapped over to Jancon's, looking at him
for the first time since he'd entered the room. Her heart still hammered at the base of her
neck, but Rose felt more resentment now than fear. "It's not right, what you're doing to us.
And it's not fair. Slavery, everything, how you pick and choose who's better than who. It's
sick! Why am I given a suite in the palace, offered fancy clothes and gourmet meals while
he's locked in a three-by-two meter cell, forced to do a job he despises, whipped, beaten,
drugged? I'm no better than him. Why am I treated like a princess when he's treated like an
animal. He doesn't deserve that! No one deserves that! I didn't deserve that."

What had risen into a crescendo faded off with that one whispered sentence, more like a gust
of air that had fallen from Rose's lips than actual speech. No longer able to hold Jancon's
stare, Rose dropped her eyes to her lap once more where her fingers had begun to shake. The
silence that followed her outburst was almost painful, Jancon's eyes on her bare shoulders
sharp and penetrating. For a long moment she regretted even opening her mouth, thinking
silence on her end would have been far more tolerable than silence on Jancon's, when the
prebassador finally spoke.

"Would you rather be moved to the slave quarters?"

He sounded almost disappointed, sorrowful even, at the idea. Or perhaps he was confused?
Either way, Rose shook her head.

"You're missing the point." She sighed. "It's slavery that's wrong, not my room." Rose pulled
the blanket up further over her shoulders, protecting them from Jancon's continued perplexed
stare. "Do...do you mind? I'm tired."

The prebassador frowned, studying the human for a moment longer, before giving a short,
single nod. "Of course. I am sorry to have caused you distress. Know that your words have
not been greeted with contempt." He stood from the bed. "Sleep well, my Thorn." He said
before slipping out the door and shutting it quietly behind him.

Rose stared at the beautiful dark wood for several long minutes after he left, willing her heart
to calm down. She had lied, she'd never felt less tired in her life. Fear and adrenaline still
coursed through her, but she didn't think she would have been able to stand a moment longer
of Jancon trying to justify their captivity and torture.

She missed the Doctor. He had lied to her, manipulated her, kept her in the dark, treated her
like she was made of finely spun glass rather than as the girl who had saved the universe over
and over again, but Rose still missed him. She was alone and terrified, and he was alone and
dying, and nothing was fair.

Feeling hot behind the eyes, Rose shimmied further down into the bed, snuggling deeper and
deeper into the lush pillows as if she could disappear into them. Gingerly, she reach out onto
the bedside table, fingers tracing over strangely warm metal and stones, and grabbed the
Doctor's necklace. She pulled it close to her chest as she brought her knees up, curling into a
ball, and hoped the tear drops now staining her pillow would be dry by morning.
 Chapter 51
Chapter Notes
See the end of the chapter for notes

About twenty minutes after offering to take the first watch of the night, the Doctor greatly
regretted his decision. Now, three hours later, the Time Lord wanted to go back in time and
punch his three-hour-and-twenty-minute younger self almost as much as he wanted to go to
sleep. The fire had burnt itself down to smoldering embers and cast their little cliff-side
shelter into a strange, orange-tinted darkness that failed to illuminate much beyond, and the
dimmed light made the Doctor feel even more drowsy. Between the lighting, his finally full
stomach, his sore legs, pounding headache, and raw and aching wounds, sleep sounded like a
dream he would never be able to achieve.

One more hour, he told himself as he glanced over at Six. The Sinjuray was curled into a
furry blue ball with her back to him, spine moving slowly as she breathed. In another hour he
would wake her up to switch shifts. Just one more hour.

Sketched out into the dirt before him was the rough outline of a map. The Doctor drew it
from memory of the diagram he'd managed to glance at before being pegged, adding in a few
specific details he'd picked up on his own: a gnarled tree he'd seen the day before, a cluster of
boulders they had scrambled through earlier, the muddy marsh that had formed around the
creek when the thick tree cover faded out into grassy hills. Working backwards, the Doctor
was able to figure out exactly where he had been pegged, where he'd met Six, and how much
further they still needed to run to reach the finish line.

About twenty-two miles and four competitors to go.

Twenty-two miles and, if they reached it, then the real trouble would begin. Because there
could only be one victor of the Trials. Only Number Six or Number Ten would win, there
could be no other option. The Doctor's eyes shifted towards Six's sleeping form again. He
didn't like to think about it, but he needed to plan. If they both made it to the finish line, the
Doctor would have to figure out something to do with the Sinjuray. He didn't want to kill her
- he didn't want to even hurt her - but she was too clever to trick and too distrusting to allow
the Doctor to bring up a compromise without removing a few of the Time Lord's more
important organs.

But now matter what it took, the Doctor had to be the one to cross that line first. Sure, Jancon
had promised that no matter what happened, victory or defeat, Rose would be taken home,
back to Earth, or at least to a nearby planet she could charter a shuttle from. Perhaps Six was
rubbing off on him, though, because the Doctor found himself highly doubting the
prebassador's words. He had seen how Jancon looked at Rose - not sexually, thank Rassilon,
otherwise the Doctor would never have allowed Rose to stay behind with him alone - but it
was clear Jancon and Ilaria had grown very fond of the human girl. They had taken her in,
treated her like kin, like family, and the Doctor couldn't tell if they would be able to give up
with exotic houseguest just because they had promised a deceased or defeated and shamed
slave. He needed to win her freedom the only way he could.
Even through the death of someone he hesitantly dared to call a friend?

No, no, he would worry about that later. The night was dark, the woods quiet, and the danger
felt so much more present with his back pressed protectively against the cliff wall. He had to
remember himself. He was the Doctor, the last of the Time Lords, a nine-hundred year old
genius...he would come up with something. He always did.

The Doctor glanced up at the sky, looking for the tell-tale lights of the snatcher ships. The
stars above looked wrong, the constellations unfamiliar. He had stayed far clear of this
system for near four hundred years, not since his sixth incarnation accidentally kidnapped the
princess of Stimlan (the silly girl had crawled into his TARDIS and hid, totally not his fault!),
started a one-man, twelve-front war (seriously, how did a slaver planet have so many allies?),
inadvertently set all the slaves in old Eyal free (okay, that he wasn't apologetic for), blew up
the headquarters' city (they kind of deserved it, though), and married the king of Drephesh's
betrothed (that saucy minx!). It was a good thing he no longer had that face; he wouldn't have
been surprised at all if that bounty on him was still active...maybe, if worse came to worst
and they were out of all other options, he could turn himself in and make sure Rose received
the money. With four hundred years of interest accumulated, that would be more than enough
to get Rose home and ensure she and any family she might have would live comfortably for a
long, long time. He would do that for her. Anything for her.

Captivity. Torture. Death. Anything.

Good lord, he was getting morbid in his fatigue. He worried about what his dreams had in
store for him when he could finally get to sleep. Even now he could hear Rose's voice
echoing as if from the trees, high and terrified, calling for him. The Doctor brushed it off. It
was a trick of his mind, of both longing and fear, that he couldn't submit to.

Her voice called to him again, louder, more desperate, and suddenly Six's head shot up. The
movement startled the Doctor out of his thoughts, jolting him back to reality. Six looked
poised, muscles taut, staring fixedly out into the trees. The tip of her tail flicked agitatedly.
She was so tense she could have been vibrating.

"It's okay," The Doctor said quietly, assuming she had just been stuck in a lingering
nightmare. "There's nothing out there, go back to sleep."

The only sign he got that Six had heard him was the momentary twitch of her ears back
towards him. Otherwise she remained, statuesque, watching the woods, as if waiting for
something.

"DOCTOR!"

The Doctor launched to his feet just as Six leapt up and bounded with a roar into the trees.
"Rose..."

It was her voice. It hadn't been in his head. It was her voice, somewhere, somehow, here, in
the woods. But...how? Why? Where?

"Doctor, help!"
It was coming from the same direction Six had taken off towards. The Doctor jumped over
the dying fire and sprinted after her, after Rose. She was scared. She was in pain. He could
hear it in her voice. She needed him. He needed to find her. Right now. The questions kept
playing over in his head as he ran, leaves and branches whipping at his sides, ears straining,
listening for her. How? Why? Where? Where? Where?

"Help!"

Another roar from Six, just as desperate, searching, and the Doctor froze.

Why?

Why would Rose be here? Why would Jancon allow it? Why would she be calling for him,
for the Doctor, using his "real" name when she knew he had to go by John? Why would she
be here?

She wasn't...

She wasn't real...

"DOCTOR!"

She wasn't real. He heard a growl, leaves snapping, and saw a blur of blue shoot passed him.
Six was hunting for Rose, too, but...why? Why would she act so frantic to find a human she
had never met, a human she never even knew existed?

The sound came again, but this time the Doctor was ready for it. He closed his eyes and
listened.

It was like trying to tune an old radio. There was Rose's frequency, calling to him, but as he
listened harder, tuning into the wavelengths, he heard something else. A distressed, high-
pitched whine, like a whimper, animalistic and frightened - the cry of an injured Sinjuray.

The Doctor heard Six answer the cry but forced her noise out. There was something more in
the sound. He spun in a circle, trying to pinpoint where it could be coming from. Broken
branches and trampled brush indicated where Six had gone, no longer stealthy in her need to
reach whoever was calling out to her like Rose was to him. The Doctor jogged after her, ears
still straining, waiting for -

"Please!" "Reeeeeowwwwww." "Pok^d ne km'e!"

And then the Doctor knew exactly what he was chasing.

A Siren.

One of the competitors was a Siren.

"SIX!"
The Doctor took off, pushing himself harder now after his feline companion. She was
running into a trap, they both were. He was right, Rose wasn't there, she never had been, and
neither was whoever held the voice speaking to Six. He pumped his arms harder as he skirted
passed brambles and leapt over exposed roots and bushes. He listened but couldn't hear
anything else, at least not over the commotion he himself was making. The Doctor stumbled
to a halt, trying to keep his gasping as quiet as possible. Where had Six gone?

After a moment he heard a dull growl coming from a few meters to his left through a thick
wall of branches. He was about to move, to jump in a stop Six, get her out of there and away
from the threat, when another thought suddenly struck him still.

Why?

He...he could just...walk away. It would be easy, he could just turn around, go back to their
camping spot and just...leave her. Let Six and the Siren duke it out themselves, why did he
have to be involved? If Six won then great! One less competitor to have to deal with. And if
Six lost...well, that would solve his problem at the finish line. Keep his hands clean of it. He
wouldn't have to worry about tricking her or fighting her himself, he could just...walk away.

There was another growl, more like a shriek, and this time he knew it came from Six. Just go.
This doesn't have to be your fight, Doctor, just leave, he tried to tell himself, and his feet
almost even began to move back out of the woods when another hiss and a heavy thud
reached his ears.

The next thing he knew, the Doctor was crashing through the branches towards the sound.
When the leaves finally cleared he found Six sprawled on the ground, head lulled to the side
and eyes faded with confusion. Something was on top of her, something small and humanoid
pinning her dazed body to the ground. The thing spun its head around to look at him with
cloudy, sickly-yellow eyes, red hair standing up boyishly from its head, and it smiled
mischievously.

"Hello, Doctor."

The Doctor saw it's lips moving, but all he heard was Rose's voice, spilling sweetly passed
that impish, threatening grin. The Doctor didn't even take a moment to think. He launched
himself at the creature, tackling it off Six and into the ground. The Siren moved faster than he
had anticipated, rolling out from under him so the Doctor fell face-first into the dirt. The
creature - Number Two, the Doctor's mind supplied unhelpfully - sprung back to it's feet,
laughing, giggling the way Rose used to when they were alone in the TARDIS, joking about
some misadventure they'd recently had.

"Oh, Doctor, so violent." It purred in her voice. "Do you like it rough, Doctor?"

The Doctor growled and jolted back to his feet. Six was slowly rolling to her side,
movements lethargic and unsure. The Doctor set himself up in a fighting stance, legs spread a
shoulder's width apart, arms raised and ready to strike, but the Siren merely leaned casually
against a nearby tree, arm dangling over one of the sharp lower branches. It laughed again.
"Are you going to take me roughly, Doctor?" Six was barely making it to her feet. The Doctor
would have to take this one on his own. The Siren smirked. "I'd let you, you know. Take me
down. Pin me down. Just like you let them do to me."

He knew the voice wasn't real, he knew the Siren couldn't really know what was being said,
he knew no one else could hear the words spoken like a knife to his ribs, but it didn't matter.
He flung himself into action just as the Siren leapt towards him. Something glinted in the
creature's hand, something sharp like a treated rock, and the Doctor narrowly avoided its
edge. The Doctor struck out with both hands and latched onto the wrist holding the weapon,
squeezing and twisting as he twirled passed the Siren, hoping to get behind it and wrench it's
arm behind it's back. But the Siren merely spun with him, arm twisting unnaturally like a
snake in his grip, and somehow the Doctor ended up being the one with his arms wrenched
behind his back. With surprising force, the Siren shoved the Doctor forward.

The Doctor collided with the solid trunk of a tree, nose breaking immediately on impact and
head ringing. He stumbled to the side, almost falling as his vision swam in and out, but
managed to grab onto a branch to keep himself up. The Siren chuckled as it slowly walked
towards him. "Can I tell you a secret, though...I kind of liked it."

It leapt towards him, weapon slashing towards the Doctor's stomach. Thinking fast, the
Doctor grabbed onto another branch and hoisted himself up, muscles straining to hold his
legs high enough to avoid the stone. Not a second later he launched himself out of the tree,
falling like a spear on the Siren, knocking it back to the ground.

"YES! JUST LIKE THIS!" It cried in Rose's voice, disgustingly seductive in a way the Doctor
could never have imagined. His fist swung on it's own accord, knuckles crashing into the
smirking face. The smug smile vanished as yellowish blood stained the creature's teeth. It
glared up at him, all humor gone. "That wasn't very nice."

"Ohffff!" Something slammed into the Doctor's ribs, hard enough to whack him off the Siren.
Blood dripped from his nose down his chin and he could taste it's metallic bitterness on his
lips. He rolled over as quickly as he could, trying to put as much distance between the
creature and himself as he could. The Siren stood up and stalked towards him, anger now
lacing it's movements. The Doctor stayed on the ground, counting it's footsteps, waiting...

When it was close enough he struck out, ramming the heavy, flat edge of a rock into the
Siren's ankle with all the force he could muster. There was a gross crack and the creature
cried out, momentarily switching back into what the Doctor could only assume was it's real
voice. The Siren collapsed to one knee as its broken ankle no longer wanted to hold it's
weight and the Doctor shot to his feet. His knee collided with the Siren's face and it fell
backwards with a yowl, but not before it's arm arched up and slashed a long but shallow cut
all the way up the Doctor's leg, from shin to hip.

The Doctor gasped and lurched backwards. He knew it wasn't deep or even remotely lethal,
but it still stung like hell. The Siren was already trying to get back to it's feet, cradling it's
head where a bruise was already forming. Even so, it still moved far faster than the Doctor
could have anticipated. It twisted, pulled it's arm back, and flung the weapon towards the
Doctor. It missed him by a fraction of an inch. If the Doctor had not stumbled slightly to the
side, trying to balance on his bleeding leg, it would have struck him clean in the chest. With a
growl, the Doctor hurled himself forward, grabbing the Siren by the neck with both hands,
spinning, lifting, shoving, and -

Thud.

The Siren made a desperate, gargling noise as if trying to speak, but nothing was going to get
out. The Doctor took a step back, panting, and let go of the creature. The Siren didn't even
move, held up by the piece of bloodstained wood now sticking out of it's throat. Yellow blood
dripped off the tip of the branch and trickled down the tree's trunk behind it. The Doctor took
another step back and wiped his own blood off his face. The Siren choked and reached out
towards the Doctor, but it had already lost it's only two weapons: the stone and it's voice. It
struggled fruitlessly until blood drenched it's front and it's eyes faded to a misty, empty white.

The Doctor just stood there, gasping for breath as he watched the life leave competitor
number Two's body. He didn't feel any remorse. He couldn't allow himself to. Taking another
shuddering breath, he rubbed more blood off his chin and turned to face Six. The Sinjuray
hadn't made it back to her feet yet and she looked barely conscious.

He should just leave her; he really, really should. The snatchers might get her and then she
could survive. Or another competitor could find her and she would be killed...and it wouldn't
be his problem.

He knew what he was going to choose before he even asked.

Ripping a long strip of cloth off his own filthy, torn shirt, the Doctor made his way over to
Six's prone form. She must have heard his footsteps for she began to struggle weakly, trying
unsuccessfully to move away from the potential threat. "Shh, it's okay, it's just me." The
Doctor assured as he knelt down beside her. Six remained tense for a moment before what
little fight she had remaining finally left her, letting the side of her head fall back to the
ground. The fur around her left forehead was matted and sticky with blood. Whatever the
Siren had done had clearly broken skin and there was no doubt she had a concussion.

"I need you to stay awake. Do you understand me?" The Doctor instructed as he carefully
folded the cloth. Six made a short huff sound that would just have to pass as affirmation. "I'm
going to wrap your head to try and stop the bleeding. Please don't bite my hand off."

Six made another little huff that could almost, maybe, a little bit pass for the sound of a laugh
and nodded her head slowly. Carefully, the Doctor helped the Sinjuray hold her neck up
enough for him to wrap the cloth awkwardly and one-handedly around her head. He would
need to check it again once they had more light and time. He tied it off in a tight knot over
the main source of the blood, hoping the pressure would help clog the wound and stop the
bleeding. Six was silent and still for the whole thing, just barely awake.

"Come on," The Doctor finally said after an eternity of tense silence. He stood up, brushing
dirt from his trousers and trying not to stare at the three different colors of blood staining his
hands. "We can't stay here. Can you walk?"

Clumsily, Six managed to push herself onto all fours. She wavered for a moment, looking
like she was going to collapse again, before finding her footing. Hardly daring to try, the
 Doctor laid a hand on the Sinjuray's broad, strong shoulders to help steady her. While
immediately going tense at first, the feline eventually relaxed, allowing the Doctor's hand to
direct her forward as she stumbled and tangled her legs as she walked.

The Doctor didn't lead them back towards the campfire though. There was no point in going
back - they hadn't left anything necessary there and the sky would soon start paling with the
incoming morning. Instead he turned them South, down towards the finish line, slowly
picking their way over roots and branches in the direction of what the Doctor hoped would be
a water source to wash the murder off his hands.

So much for getting any sleep.

Chapter End Notes

1 – Sontaran

2 – Male with red hair and mischievous cloudy yellow eyes

3 – Small female with sharp eyes

4 – Zygon

5 – Male with four-arms

6 – Sinjuray female (feline-like alien)

7 – 'Rocky', muscular, stone-like skin

8 – Vampire-like female

9 – Male with scales, talon like hands

10 – The Doctor!

11 – Female Aonian

12 – Tentacles
 Chapter 52

The sky was covered in a thick, steady sheet of clouds that morning. They almost blocked the
sun out entirely, leaving the Doctor and Six in a strangely elongated twilight. Rain threatened
them continuously as they made their way further south and the Doctor wondered whether it
would fall frozen like the creek or remain in liquid form. The physics behind the forced
conformation-state was fascinating - and the Doctor forced himself to think so in order to
ignore the sores on his feet, the gash up his leg, and the droop of his eyes.

Over the hours Six got better at finding her feet. Nonetheless, they kept their speed to a walk,
both too injured and exhausted to push themselves to the same level as the day before. If the
Doctor's speculation was correct, anyway, there were only two other competitors in the arena,
and for some reason the Doctor didn't think getting to the finish line was Seven and Eight's
priority.

No, you're their priority, he unfortunately kept reminding himself. That irksome little voice in
the back of his head was getting more and more morbid with each passing minute, and the
Doctor realized it was getting easier and easier to agree.

Despite the heavy cloud cover and threat of rain, it was almost unbearably hot. The air was
thick with humidity and each breath felt like it was half oxygen and half water. Sweat
saturated the Doctor's hair and permeated his clothes to the point where it didn't even matter
if it started raining – he was already soaked through, bring on the storm.

What really concerned the Doctor was his feline companion. She was also damp with sweat,
thick blue fur slicked back and dark with moisture. Her yellow eyes were still a bit unfocused
from the earlier concussion and she was back to being jumpy and guarded around the Doctor.
He tried not to be too bothered by the loss of her hard-won trust, knowing he would have to
betray her anyway if he was to get out of here victorious, but a primal part of him was still
desperate for companionship. He had never been good at being alone.

Just the thought sent a pang of anxiety through him. Stress simmered so close to the surface
these days, triggered by the smallest careless thought, and the lack of sleep and security over
the last few days has done next to nothing to settle the nervous reaction. The Timelord closed
his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, counting as he did so.

The scent of sweat and forest floor was strong and familiar by now, but there was something
else there, too. It wasn't the metallic odor of Eight or the minerals he'd detected from Seven,
but there was something striking and enticing about it. Like decaying waterbed weeds and
wet, nutrient-rich mud – the kind only found around pools of liquid water.

"Six, do you smell that?" The Doctor asked, stopping suddenly and holding out a hand.

The Sinjuray jerked away and growled, apparently thinking the Doctor's reach came far too
close, but soon lifted her head and sniffed the air pensively. Her powerful jaw fell open
slightly, her tongue darting out to test the air as well, eyes closed with subconscious longing.
"Yeah, that's what I thought, too." The Doctor murmured. "Come on."

He sniffed the air again like a dog, following the slimy, mineral-y scent. Luckily there weren't
many trees in this part of the arena, the forest trickling off into the hilly golden fields of rock
and grass neither of them were keen on exposing themselves in. But the promise of that smell
drew the Doctor away from the protection of the tree cover and Six followed, sniffing at the
air as well, paws moving faster than they had all day.

Abandoning the forest, the plain of dying grass began to roll and pitch into sharper hills,
forcing the Doctor and Six to scramble up the side of one of the many plateaus to follow their
noses. The struggle was generously rewarded. At the base of the hill, impossibly, snaked a
river of clear, moving water. The liquid whistled as it moved over and between rocks, lapping
at the muddy shore the Doctor had smelled earlier and rumbling as it dropped down among
the crevices of the shallow canyons.

Six didn't hesitate. She leapt forward, ignoring the Doctor's shout of caution, practically
rolling down the hill in her haste to reach the river. The Doctor launched himself after her,
desperate with thirst just like the Sinjuray but wary of what the river meant. Six clearly did
not share his concerns. Without slowing down the feline surged into the water, leaping further
into the river until only her head was visible. Brown, red, and a murkey substance the Doctor
knew was sweat leached off of Six and flowed with the current away from her body, showing
off how filthy the competitor had been.

The Doctor longed to join her, feeling the stickiness of sweat and blood on his skin stronger
than ever before in the prospect of being rid of it, but he still approached cautiously,
uncertain. He knelt down, uncaring of the damp mud sinking into the knees of his trousers,
and scooped up a handful of water in the palms of his hands. Bringing his hands to his face,
he took a deep, calculating sniff, searching for any additives or poisons in the liquid. Nothing.
Tentatively, the Doctor stuck his tongue out and dipped its tip into the water. Nothing. He
took a sip, swirled it around his mouth, over his tongue, against the front of his teeth, and spit
it back out. Nothing.

"This can't be right…" He muttered to himself.

Six had move even further into the river, head bobbing up and down as she was forced to
swim in its depths. The Doctor had never know Sinjurays to be keen on swimming, but Six
looked happier and more content that he had seen her since they'd met. She seemed to have
no reservations about the quality and safety of the water, unconcerned by the sudden change
in conformation.

The Doctor waited until she swam back to the shore and slowly waded out of the waves. She
shook her entire body, water flying in all directions and splattering over the Doctor. She then
turned around, crouched down, and started lapping at the edge of the water. The Doctor
watched her, waiting for any signs of worry or distress from the feline, but none came.

Finally, when it seemed Six had drank her fill, she turned to the Doctor, brow furrowed as if
asking what are you waiting for?
"Don't you think it's a little suspicious?" At Six's lack of visual response, the Doctor
continued. "This entire time all water sources have been locked in a conformation state.
They're deliberately trying to make it difficult and dangerous for us. And then suddenly, on
the final stretch, we come across a part of the same creek we were chipping at earlier and it's
fresh, running water, not ice."

Six's frown deepened and she grumbled a little.

"I know, I just tasted it and didn't find anything wrong either. But…" The Doctor paused,
glancing up stream where the water was running unperturbed by ice. "Something just doesn't
feel right. Why would they make it easy on us now?"

Six gave a very human-like shrug and began drinking again. After a moment she glanced at
the Doctor, eyes expressive and obviously trying to communicate with him. The Doctor
shrugged. "Alright…I'll try it."

His thirst could hardly be ignored now, anyway. After losing so many fluids between the
bleeding and the sweating, the Doctor was severely dehydrated. Drugged or not, the Doctor
was going to have to drink. It didn't make him feel any better about the prospects, but it was
really his only available course of action.

And the water tasted amazing. He could practically feel his organs rehydrating as he carefully
swallowed the mouthful. It was like no treat he'd ever received before. Even at Eyal, when he
was being starved into submission, he had always been allowed as much water as he needed
to survive the cruel treatment. Jancon and the Trial organizers had not been so kind…until
now.

Suspicious still humming through him, the Doctor helped himself to another handful of water
nonetheless. And then another. And another. There seemed to be no slowing now, his thirst
coming back with a vengeance. It took a great deal of willpower for the Doctor to stop
himself, knowing that if he drank too much too quickly he would be sick. And he couldn't
afford to lose the meager food he'd managed to eat the night before. He leaned away from the
water, resting back on his elbows and enjoying how the coolness of the damp bank soaked
into his clothes. It might get unpleasant later when it dries, but for now it was a blessing
against the muggy heat of the day.

Six had finished drinking her fill as well. She sat back with her haunches in the water,
methodically dipping her right paw in and then rubbing it against the congealed blood on her
forehead. The water washing off her paw was tinted pink. The Doctor was content to just
watch her for a while as he eyed the ever darkening spread of clouds moving quickly towards
them. With the sun hidden, it was difficult for him to get a proper read on what time it was.
The Timelord closed his eyes and reached inside himself, feeling the turn of the planet and
the tug of the multiple electromagnetic poles cancelling out each other's reads. It was
sometime in the mid-afternoon – that much he was sure of – but the feeling of the planet's
fields were unfamiliar to the Doctor, so he couldn't be sure.

It was comforting nonetheless; the feel of the planet's rotation, the positioning of the stars, the
ever-changing dynamic of the universe around him – all so familiar and addictively foreign to
him at the same time. He pulled further into himself, meditating on Time, feeling its impact
on those around him. The stress it put on Six, separated from her partner and her clowder for
so long, the hum of the trees and chattering lifespans of the creatures flitting between them.
Time bent around his own subconscious and unraveled with possibilities and aches. He
longed to be back with Rose and, after so long apart, his need for the TARDIS and everything
it stood for in his lonely life physically hurt. This far away in the universe the Doctor couldn't
even feel her presence. He reached out further, stretching for the time vortex…but felt
nothing.

The plip of something thick and wet hitting his cheek startled the Doctor out of his reverie.
His eyes flew open and sought for Six, thinking she'd just splashed him , but the Sinjuray was
a few meters up shore, too far for drops to have reached. Then he felt it again on his hand.
Then again on his other cheek. The dark clouds had finally reached them, spilling fat drops of
water down on the two competitors. The Doctor leaned his head back and sighed as the rain
began to fall heavier. It was refreshingly cool compared with the humidity of the afternoon,
and the Doctor just couldn't bring himself to be bothered with finding shelter. He was already
soaking wet with sweat. At least he would be getting a shower.

He heard a splash and peered over to see Six pouncing into the creek. The rain was creating
perfect ringlets on the water's surface, like miniature waves, and at first the Doctor thought
Six was trying to hunt them. He couldn't help a slight chuckle. Cats were cats were cats it
seemed. Six coiled up and pounced again, sending water flying everywhere, and then quickly
stilled, watching the water with all the intensity of a tracker.

The suddenly Six pounced again and resurfaced with a large flailing fish between her jaws.
She leapt onto a nearby rock and shook her head expertly, breaking the fish's neck. Carefully
inspecting the fish, Six got back to her feet and jumped from boulder to boulder back to the
Doctor's side and plopped the limp, bleeding mess of scales in his lap.

"Thanks…"

Six gave a grumble in response and bounded back to her fishing spot. The raindrops must
have drawn the fish closer to the surface because only a few moments later Six had a fish of
her own. Instead of breaking its neck, Six brought it back to the shore and unceremoniously
began eating, letting blood and fish oil run down her chin.

The Doctor glanced down at his own fish and felt a swell of emotions rise up in his chest.
The kill had clearly been intended for him, carefully done in a similar fashion to the bird
from the night before. Six had kept his eating habits in mind, fed him before herself, thought
about him to begin with…

The Doctor now felt even more retched about almost leaving her behind to die. She was
better than him. She deserved better than him.

Knowing it would be impossible to start a fire in this rain, and with no sufficient shelter in
sight, the Doctor braced himself for a very bloody, fleshy raw meal. He forced himself to his
tired legs and trudged closer to the water. He washed the blood and dirt from the fish's scales,
found one large flat rock and a smaller, sharper edged stone, and got to work messily
skinning the creature. The rock could barely penetrate the scaly skin and he ended up hacking
at it rather than slicing.
Six had finished her meal by the time the Doctor had his own de-scaled enough to be edible.
She lay down, chin resting on her folded front paws, and yawned deeply. She was clearly
exhausted and the Doctor let her sleep, feeling the pull of fatigue on himself as well. He
focused instead on his hunger and got back to work.

The kitchen was never a quiet place, except perhaps in the dimly lit hours of predawn after
the night servants replace the last newly-gleaming pot on its shelf and before Mrs. Sinh starts
up the morning fires. But at the moment, with the last sun teasing the distant mountains with
its setting rays, the kitchen was as loud and chaotic as ever. Knives wielded by practiced
hands chopped through vegetables with lightening speed, cooks hauled pots of boiling liquids
from one burner to the next, shouting warnings as they moved, and young assistants darted
around elbows stirring and hands passing ingredients up and down the counters.

To the casual observer it was lawless mess, but as Rose watched from the doorway, presence
so far unnoticed, everything turned into a hypnotic dance – timed, choreographed, and
performed perfectly.

Mrs. Sinh stood at the back of the room arguing loudly with the head chef. He was a rather
portly alien who used his weight and boisterous voice to push the other cooks and assistants
around. Mrs. Sinh, however, refused to be cowed by him even as he brandished his massive
butcher's knife to accentuate his point. Apparently Mrs. Sinh was willing to give her life in
order to ensure roasted hauvskillpud – whatever that was – made it onto the dining table that
evening.

Enraged, Chef finally threw his hands up, viciously growling "Fine! Disrupt the entire menu!
I hope his majesty enjoys eating cream of waln with hishauvskillpud, because I have no time
to rearrange everything! Now get out of my kitchen!"

"We'll see how long it remains your kitchen!" Mrs. Sinh huffed as she spun away on her
heels. An assistant nearly crashed into her but quickly scampered away, reciting apology after
apology, in the wake of her glare. A glare that finally found its way to Rose. "What is it?"
Mrs. Sinh sneered, clearly in no mood to cater to the wide-eyed human.

Rose plucked at the stones around her neck – a nervous habit that took no amount of time to
develop. The feeling of the cold opaque gems against her skin was as comforting as holding
the Doctor's hand. Strength surged through her at the thought, giving her the ability to not
wilt beneath the head of household's impatient scowl.

"I want a job." She forced herself to say loud enough to be heard over the bustle of dinner
prep. "Give me something to do, anything. You must need help."

Mrs. Sinh scoffed and tried to move away. "Madam Ilaria would not be happy with me
putting her guests to work."

Rose followed behind her, refusing to be ignored. "I'm not a guest, Mrs. Sinh." Rose insisted
miserably, thrusting the underside of her arm in front of the woman's face so that the tattooed
numbers and letters stood out starkly against the pale skin of her wrist. Mrs. Sinh glanced at
it and then back at Rose, eyes slightly more softened. "And I'm tired of pretending I'm
anything but bought, it's exhausting and unfair. If hehas to be a slave, then I'm a slave."

Mrs. Sinh shook her head with a sigh. "Well, I can't say I understand it, but I guess it beat
sitting around and watching the boy get killed." She didn't say it cruelly, and obviously didn't
mean it to be so, but the words still felt like a rock had been thrown at Rose's chest. "Come
on."

Rose followed behind the woman, dodging the other cooks and assistants. Mrs. Sinh pointed
towards a small empty table in the corner of the kitchen, a giant crate of something and a
smaller silver bowl on its surface. "Sit there and shuck through thesehauvskillpuds. Make
sure the entire shell is removed, but save the ones that come off intact."

"Yes, ma'am." Rose nodded. She sat down carefully on the low three-legged stool next to the
table and took up a shucking knife, glad to finally have something to do even if it was
laboring in the kitchens. Thehauvskillpud looked like tiny, bipedal turtles. Rose placed the
edge of the knife between the greyish meat and the shell and yanked with all her might,
ignoring the Chef's glare from across the stove.

The Doctor had his eyes closed, awake but resting, enjoying the gentle sound of raindrops
hitting water and stone. It was the most relaxed he had been throughout the whole Trial, and
even though he knew he shouldn't be, the Doctor simply couldn't help himself. With his body
hydrated and his stomach full of fish – raw, fleshy, and oily as it was – and the gentle lullaby
of nature around him, it was easy to let the pull of fatigue guide his eyes shut.

The taste of camosphere in the air was much stronger than usual, metallic and foreign. He
didn't know if it was because of the water outside or the fact that they only had four
competitors to focus on, but the cameras seemed to be more attune than ever, filming
everything they were doing. The Doctor almost (almost) felt sorry for the viewers. The show
must be so boring right now. Nothing much was happening at the moment. They ate, they
drank, they rested. The Doctor had actually expected worse coming into the Trial, more
production interaction at least, giving them more obstacles then just frozen water and
homicidal competitors. Not that he was complaining, of course.

They had found a small alcove not far downstream from where they began with enough of a
cover to protect them marginally from the rain. It was shallow and rocky, just deep enough to
fit the two of them if they curled up tightly, but it would do. The Doctor was sure they had
time to rest for a while and wait out the storm. He knew they were close, perhaps only a day
away, and the rain would have obscured their scent from Seven and Eight. Of course, that
also meant theirscent was hidden from the Doctor and Six, but they would just have to hope
their head start and cover was good enough to last them a little while longer.

Every now and then the question of sleep poked at the Doctor once more, and each time he
reluctantly brushed it off. He had no real reason to do so – Six was still awake next to him,
lazily cleaning her paws and picking fish scales from her teeth. Part of him wondered if Six
was thinking along the same lines as he was. That sooner or later something would have to be
done about the other competitor. But no, no, that couldn't be right. Only the Doctor was
selfish like that. Six had fed him. If she wanted to kill him it could so easily be done. She was
born with perfect weapons whereas the Doctor was more or less harmless. If she wanted him
dead, he already would be.

No, Six was an ally.

Yet still he turned sleep down.

The Doctor could hear the Sinjuray breathing next to him and tried to find comfort in the
steady rhythm. The gentle pitter-patters of rain falling on rock increased and blurred together
into a single rush of sound getting stronger and stronger. Or rather – the Doctor frowned and
listened harder – it was coming…closer? Yes, the rushing appeared to be coming from a
distance, rapidly coming closer.

But the rain. Opening his eyes, the Doctor watched as water splattered against the stones
outside in the same tempo as before, soft and soothing. The rain wasn't getting heavier, as the
sound suggested. Something else was happening.

Something else was coming.

Pushing himself to his hands and knees, the Doctor crawled to the entrance of the alcove and
looked upstream. Six harrumphed curiously and shifted so she could watch him. Everything
seemed fine…except the birds had stopped chirping. That could be from the change in
weather. Or it could be from something else. The water looked fine, if a little shallow and
muddy from the rain runoff. But that wasn't right, it should be shallow if it was raining.

The Doctor crawled the rest of the way out, wincing on instinct when a drop of rain hit him
on the cheek as he stood. He could practically feel the ground trembling, or were those his
erratic hearts beating their anxiety? No, his hearts were battle-steady. The ground was
shaking. The water was receding. Something was rushing, roaring towards them.

His vision tunneled at the sight. There, upstream, far up the sloped canyon but coming at
them too quicklywas a giant, towering wave of brown water.

"Ҫɑrjɑnow…Six! Get up!" The Doctor cursed colorfully in low Gallifreyan. The cat rumbled
unhappily and the Doctor thrust his hand into the alcove as if to pull her out without taking
his eyes off the wave. He barely felt the sting of her claws raking down his arm or heard her
hiss of panicked surprise. All he saw was the tidal wave rushing towards them, closer and
closer

"Ow! Get up! It's a flash flood!" A flash flood channeled straight at them by the valley walls,
growing and roaring in anger the more ground it covered. Already, waves were lapping at the
crests of the hills on either side. A single, desolate tree along the top of one hill stood no
chance against the rage. It bent and snapped under the water's touch like a toothpick and
vanished beneath the churning mud. The Doctor did not want to be that tree.

The loud crack of splintering wood and the rushing tide got Six to her feet. She launched
herself out of the alcove after the Doctor, who had already started running down the bank. He
pumped his arms desperately, willing his legs to move faster, to not trip or slip over the
mossy rocks beneath his feet. It would be impossible to outrun the wave, but the walls on
either side of the alcove were too steep to climb, trapping them down in the riverbed. They
had to get to higher ground.

Six streaked past the Doctor, covering three of the Doctors strides in one single bound. The
canyon wall began to angle out but it was still terribly steep. Some rocks and a few unearthed
roots could make for handholds. For Six that was no problem. She leapt up the bank,
propelling from one boulder to the next with her powerful legs. The Doctor wouldn't be able
to make it.

But he had to. He could feel wetness licking at his heels. The roaring of the water was so
loud in his ears it had to be right behind him, breathing down his back. Water rushed over his
ankles and he tripped at the sudden change in traction. Stumbling, the Doctor blindly shot his
hand out, reaching for one of the roots he knew might be sticking out. By some miracle he
managed to grab something and hoisted himself up.

Loose water frothed beneath his feet as the wave barreled towards him. He wouldn't be clear
of it. He needed to get higher. Straining his arms, the Doctor pulled himself up as high as he
could, feet flailing and kicking out in a desperate search for a foothold on the wall. His shoes
slipped too easily off the rain-slicked stones until finally he caught something semi-stable.
Pushing with all his might, exhausted as he was, the Doctor flung himself forward, aiming for
another outstanding rock.

His fingers curled around the smooth, cold stone just as the wave slammed into his legs. The
force was tremendous. His feet were swept out from under him, smashed carelessly into
canyon wall, and then dragged determinedly downstream. It was all the Doctor could do to
hold on, knuckles white around the single stone. His other hand lashed out at a thick nearby
vine and grabbed hold of it just as another wave pounded into his side. It was like being
kicked by a Judoon – swift and merciless. All the air was knocked from his lungs, but he was
so close. He pulled on the vine, trying to drag his sodden, battered body up and out of the
water when –

SNAP!

The vine split apart and the Doctor was given one terrifying moment of clarity, as if the
universe had slowed down to focus on this one moment of a Time Lord suspended in midair,
hands grappling frantically for support that wasn't there.

Then he was falling. His back struck the water with the force of a cannonball and the Doctor
cried out in pain. Horrid, murky water slipped into his mouth and rushed down his throat.
The Doctor tried to cough and gasp for air, but a vortex below grabbed his arm and yanked
him beneath the surface. Panic flared in his chest. Something impossibly heavy struck him on
his hip. His mouth flew open in a silent scream just as his mind shouted DON'T BREATHE
IN DON'TBREATHEIN! Too late, the acrid water plunged into his lungs as he was pulled
deeper beneath the flood, churning, spinning, slamming into what could have been the
riverbed floor and what could have been the canyon walls and what could have been the
ceiling of the universe for all the Doctor knew. His eyes were wide with terror but there was
nothing to see but brown moiling fluid pushing and pulling and drowning him. His lungs
screamedagainst the liquid intruder, burning in agony. His respiratory bypass loyally tried to
switch on but water rushed in too fast, making it impossible to seal his lungs off. The brown
around him became darker and darker, spots of black flashing before him. He lashed out,
flailing is arms and legs, trying desperately to remember how to swim, but the vortex kept
wrenching him back. He screamed in frustration, in anger, in fear and water greeted his lungs
once more. His limbs were too weak, too heavy. Everything was like lead and he couldn't
move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe must breathe havetobreathebreathebreath

The Doctor gasped hopelessly, desperate for air, but there was nothing there by water and
darkness.
 Chapter 53

The hauvskillpud proved to be a worthy distraction. They were stubborn little bastards,
determined to stay in their shells even after death. Rose's fingers now sported several shallow
nicks and cuts from where the shucking knife slipped against their hard, slimy shelters. Her
hands were covered in the goo and she couldn't quite figure out how to get it all off without
spreading it everywhere so she stopped trying. The slime made the task of opening the pods
that much harder, but Rose relished in the extra work.

She was about halfway through the case of hauvskillpud and no one had bothered her yet.
Chef occasionally sent a piercing glare in her direction, but other than that it could have been
as if she wasn't even there. And that was completely okay with the human as well. Attention
had never done her or the Doctor any good at this estate.

Unfortunately, the peace didn't last much longer. One of the assistants Rose recognized from
Jancon's personal supply stock was weaving his way towards her isolated corner, a frenzied
look upon his dark green face. For a moment Rose was able to convince herself that he was
searching for someone else and tried to return, apprehensively, to her work.

When his shadow fell over her work station, Rose knew she could no longer ignore him. A
ball of lead formed in her stomach, growing hotter with each escalating breath.

"The master wishes to speak with you, Miss Rose." The alien said formally. Far too formally,
as if trying to cover up the frantic tone that latched onto the edge of each word.

"Right – right now?" Rose asked. Maybe it could wait. Maybe it wasn't important. She
gestured towards the case of hauvskillpud. "I'm almost done here." She lied. But in truth, she
didn't want to hear what Jancon or his emerald assistant wanted to say at all, ever, no thanks.
Nothing good ever came out of a summons from the Prebassador. An image of the Doctor
curled up on his knees at Jancon's feet refused to budge out of her mind. Another vision of
the Doctor, with glassy eyes and slouched shoulders, drifted into play alongside the first. And
between them, as if held aloft by the others, stood a figure of the Doctor, strung up between
two poles, bare-chested and dripping blood from the lashes on his back. No, summons from
the Prebassador were never good. And there was only one thing she could imagine Jancon
summoning her for now.

In response, the assistant merely stepped back and gestured earnestly, stiffly, towards the
corridor outside the kitchen. "Lord Jancon awaits," was all he said.

The ball of lead burned sharply against Rose's insides at his ambiguous answer, but there was
no arguing. Standing slowly, certain the flaming ball would sear through her at any moment –
for surely that was the cause of her nausea and the reason her legs felt like jelly weighed
down by bowling balls – Rose followed the assistant through the kitchen. There was a ringing
Rose hadn't noticed before growing louder with each step. She could now see Jancon
standing in the hallway waiting for her, hands clasped behind his back and eyes refusing,
even from a distance, to meet her own.
No.

"Thank you, Nabercet. That will be all." Jancon dismissed the assistant, who scurried away
with a datapad in hand, quite clearly desperate to put some space between the master and
himself. The Prebassador looked down and guided Rose further from the kitchen with a soft
hand resting gentlemanly between her shoulder blades. He stopped her as they came around
the bend of the corridor. Jancon took a hesitant breath. "Rose, I –"

But Rose was already shaking her head. She didn't want to hear it. She didn't want to be
there. She wanted to go back to the kitchen. She wanted to finish the hauvskillpud. She didn't
want to hear what he was saying, but her heart was thudding too loudly in her throat for her
to form the words to beg him not to.

"I wanted to be the one to tell you. There's been an,"

"No. No, please don't."

"Incident." He paused as Rose shook her head more insistently, slimy hands covering to her
mouth as if guarding her soul from what it was about to hear. "I believe he called it a 'flash-
flood', and,"

"No, no, no." The word tumbled out like part of the air moving too quickly through her lungs.
She couldn't breathe.

"I'm…I'm so sorry, but John wasn't fast enough."

And Jancon looked genuinely sorry. He glanced down at Rose, who refused to meet his eye,
arm jerking as if he were about to reach for the human and just barely stopped himself. Rose
pressed herself against the wall behind her. The room had suddenly tipped on its side. She felt
her knees buckle as gravity shifted, leaving her barely hanging onto the one scrap of reality
pushing against her back.

"No, no, he can't – He didn't. He'll regenerate."

"I'm so sorry." The usually polished voice sounded strained, broken. "I waited. I watched for
ten minutes. There was no sign of him, or anyone that could have taken John's place. It
happened too quickly."

"Then wait longer!" Rose hissed. "He can't have – He doesn't need to – THIS IS YOUR
FAULT!" Rose launched herself at the Prebassador, slamming into his slim frame. "YOU DID
THIS TO HIM!"She struck him in the chest with a closed fist. "YOU SENT HIM THERE."
She hit him again, grabbing giant fistfuls of his shirt and yanking as if she could pull back the
very fabric of Time. The penalty of striking a master flitted briefly through her head, but she
welcomed it. Pain. Suffering. Agony. What was it? What was it compared to the lies spewing
from Jancon's mouth. The Doctor couldn't be…he wasn't…

Arms wrapped around her in the mockery of a hug and panic flared through her. She was
caged. Trapped. Held against this killer! She shoved back against him. "Let me go! Get off
me!"
"Shhh, Rose, my little Thorn,"

"Let go of me!"

The arms released her too suddenly and she fell backwards, shoulders hitting the wall. She
slid down it, legs no longer able to hold her up as the universe turned on her and dragged her
heart down through her stomach to the tips of her toes and into the ground, pinning her to the
spot as it leached everything from her body until she felt limp and hollow and wrong. Jancon
knelt before her, saying something, eyes uncharacteristically large and wet. Rose couldn't
hear him through the rushing in her ears and the pounding in her head. She didn't have a heart
anymore, it had vanished through the floorboards – so what was making that sound? What
could possibly still be beating in a fragile, empty shell.

"- but John was a pleasure and a privileged to have known. I will miss him dearly."

Somehow, those words made it through her shell and ripped Rose open, like her knife
through a hauvskillpud.

"That was the most selfish thing you've ever said, and you've said a lot of selfish things."
Rose hissed at her knees before glaring up at Jancon, gold flames practically dancing in her
eyes. "He isn't yours to miss."

Jancon frowned understandingly. "Of course, you are right. He was yours and only yours, I
just -"

"No!" Rose snapped. "He isn't mine! He isn't anybody's! He doesn't belong to anyone! Why
can't you get that through your thick, stupidly grey head? No one can claim him, and look
what happens when you try, you disgusting, gutless –"

"My Lord!"

"Not now, Nabercet." Jancon held up a hand as if directing traffic. The assistant had come
barreling back around the corner looking, impossibly, even more frenzied then before.

"No, but, my lord – "

"I am currently being justly shouted at by a very wronged woman, are you quite certain you
would like to get involved in the middle of this?" Jancon asked almost calmly.

"Of course not, Lord Jancon." And he sounded very honest about that. "But you will want to
see this. It's the slave."

The flash flood had lived up to its name, striking hard one moment and all but vanishing the
next like a burst of lightening. The storm had more or less cried itself to sleep as well. Drizzle
floated down from the slowly brightening clouds and speckled the now smooth surface of the
murky river with gentle, apologetic kisses. Even the birds had resumed their soft trilling and
flitted around the bankside looking for flood spoils.
Everything seemed so calm in the aftermath of the destruction, as if nature itself was trying to
will the memory of its tantrum away from all those who had witnessed it and survived.

The calm was ruined, however, when the smooth, almost wood-like surface of the river was
splintered by a hand. The hand thrashed and grasped for the water as if hoping it would turn
solid at its touch. The water only churned in response, sending rippling waves crashing into
the stones on the bank nearby. As if able to sense the ripples, the hand, now joined by its
counterpart, turned and thrashed its way towards the shore. Finally, the surface broke a third
time and a head emerged, mouth gasping desperately like an air-caught fish. The half
drowned creature nearly bobbed beneath the surface again had it not been for its still
thrashing hands and now arms, the frantic movements keeping it afloat and shifting towards
the shore. Belatedly, the creature's dark, panicked eyes finally caught sight of the land and,
with a cough and gurgle for desperate breath, it lounged towards salvation.

As it nears the shore, the creature remembered. He's the Doctor. He was drowning. He
couldn't breathe. He was in pain. He was fighting. He was scared.

It all came crashing down on him like the waves trying to pull him back into the river, but he
clung to the thoughts, the memories. He's the Doctor, he can't let himself drown, he can
breathe now, he can't be scared, he needs to keep fighting.

The pain, however, is something else. His lungs were burning like hot coals, his head
throbbing along with his weak double heart beats. Oh good, lefty started back up again, some
voice tried to say jovially in the back of his frenzied mind. It felt like there was an
immovable metal band wrapped around his ribs, caging them painfully, and his right hip
roared in agony every time it moved or swayed in the water. But he had to keep swimming.

The river had finally become shallow enough for his hands to clasp at the solid stone bedding
instead of water. Slowly, agonizingly, the Doctor pulled himself up the gentle incline onto dry
land.

Without the weightlessness that came with being in water, the torture of his dislocated hip
flared with a vengeance, and it was all the Doctor could do not to scream. He doubted he had
enough air in his lungs to get the job done anyway. His respiratory system was still reeling
from the incomplete bypass attempt and water continued to siphon through his lung walls and
choke the Doctor every few seconds. He coughed the water up, panting desperately through
the trickle of liquid and drool dripping from his lips. He didn't care enough or have the
energy to wipe it away.

Despite the screaming protests of his leg, the Doctor forced himself to crawl further up the
bank. His three working limbs trembled from the exertion, but it had to be done. He needed
to relocate his hip. The agony was intense, far worse than any torture he had experienced at
the hands of Jancon, Eyal, and the outpost all put together. But without his leg he was
useless; he couldn't finish the trial, couldn't move to find shelter or food, and couldn't protect
himself from the remaining competitors.

He shivered at the idea of having to set the joint by himself, without aid or anesthesia. This
sort of thing should never be attempted without someone's help, but there was no one to help
him now. Six had run off – hopefully, the Doctor amended, praying she hadn't been caught in
the flood as well – and Seven and Eight would be far too thrilled to find their prey vulnerable
and suffering to offer him any sort of assistance.

No, he would have to do this alone.

Squinting through the water dripping into his eyes from his limp hair, the Doctor found a
cluster of boulders not far up the bank. That would have to do. Still not daring to try to stand,
the Time Lord continued to pull himself up the rocky shore, reminded humorlessly of that
one scene at the end of Star Wars Episode III. Rose had had to close her eyes and look away
as Anakin dragged his ruined, mutilated body away from the lava river. What was she
thinking now? Was she even watching? The Doctor hoped not. She didn't need to see this.

Tears had sprung unwillingly to his eyes, welling up and obscuring his vision. From the way
his femur felt like it was grinding against the bones of his pelvis and the way his right foot
angled in, the Doctor guessed it was dislocated posteriorly. At least that was an easier fix than
anteriorly and the leg didn't seem to be broken or fractured anywhere else. Little silver
linings.

The Doctor crawled his way up to the first boulder, which was low enough for him to sit on
like a chair, and began to hoist himself up with a stick he had found along his way. It was
slow, painful work, putting most of his body weight on the stick as the Doctor's useless leg
refused to help, only whining about the pain, but finally he made it. Now for the hard part.

He allowed himself a moment of rest, a reward of sorts for making it this far. But it wasn't
much of a rest. By sitting down, he had forced his hip to rotate, causing the ball of his femur
to rub even more against the harsher angle of his pelvis. The torment was intense. Realizing
the pain was only getting worse the longer he put it off, the Doctor decided it was now or
never.

Using his trembling arms, the Doctor shifted himself around until the edge of the boulder
lifted and pressed against the right side of his hip. Tears flowed freely now as the Doctor
fought a sob. He had to keep going. It was only going to get worse before it could get better.
The Doctor carefully laced the stick under his right knee and moved it up until it rested three
quarters of the way up his thigh. Gripping either side of the stick, the Doctor took three
quick, shallow breaths, and yanked.

Pain like nothing he'd experienced before split through him. His vision whited out, a piercing
scream echoing from somewhere nearby. His nerves felt like they were being ground through
a mill, but he yanked again, jerking to the right to set the femur in place. There was a loud,
sickening pop as the joint fell back into the socket and red light flared behind his closed eyes.

By the time he was able to open them again, he found himself on the ground, panting and
whimpering wretchedly. A moment later he was vomiting onto the rocks, his meager meal of
raw fish returning with a vengeance. His body shook with lingering pain, his whole leg
pulsing miserably, but it was more manageable now. He didn't bother moving as he took
stock at last of all his other injuries: a concussion for sure, two broken ribs, a sprained wrist,
horribly water-damaged lungs that still felt far too weak and wet, and a multitude of cuts and
gashes. The stones beneath him were smeared with orange-red blood.
All in all, he was a complete and total mess. Knowing his leg wouldn't be able to hold weight
for a few more hours at least, there was only one thing the Doctor could think of to do. The
cluster of boulders created a sort of stone-like nest between them, and while it wasn't the
most prime piece of real estate, the Doctor forced himself to crawl back into the center of the
mass, curled into a ball against the harsh, unyielding ground, and fell into the heaviest
healing coma he'd had to endure in a long, long time.
 Chapter 54

When the Doctor woke again, it was night time. He was lying on his back on the rocky
ground, staring up at the cloudless starry sky. It was as if the storm had never happened. He
couldn't even hear the roar of the river that had so nearly been his grave. Instead there was
just the soothing sound of night creatures chirping away into the evening and the steady
rustle of wind through the nearby trees. Maybe it was true. Maybe nothing had happened.

The constant ache throughout his body told him otherwise. His head still pounded – though
considerably less than before – and his right leg, from ankle to hip, was a horrible bruised
mess. Sharp zaps of pain shot up his spine as he tried to move, but the Doctor could still feel
his toes move when he willed them to, so at least there was no significant nerve damage.
Quite a large miracle. He would have to celebrate later.

The stars stared down on him and the Doctor stared back. It had been hours since he'd fallen
into the healing coma. Hours of horrifying vulnerability…and no one had found him. No
snatchers, no Seven, no Eight. And no Six. Friend or foe, the Doctor couldn't help but feel a
rush of startled relief. At least now he wouldn't have to worry about whether or not to end Six
on his own terms while they were still allies. No matter how many times he'd told himself it
had to be done, the Doctor didn't think he would have been able to perform that level of
treachery, not after everything Six had done for him and vice versa.

Forcing those morbid thoughts from his head, the Doctor slowly pushed himself into a sitting
position. The world spun and reeled dangerously and for a moment the Doctor thought he
would be sick again. With nothing to throw up, his stomach finally settled long enough for
the planet to stop tipping on its axis. Taking several deep breathes, the Doctor prepared
himself for the inevitable wave of agony and forced himself to his knees. As expected,
blinding pain washed over him, but his leg would hold his weight, which was good enough
for him. He allowed himself another moment to revel in the pain before using one of the
nearby boulders to pull himself back onto his feet.

No snarky words of encouragement came to mind as the Doctor breathed slowly in and out
through his nose. No cheeky jabs at the monsters who put him in this situation teetered on his
tongue as the he bent down to grab the discarded branch he'd use to reset his hip earlier that
day. Nothing except 'You need to move. You need to go. You need to walk.' played through his
brainas he clutched one end of the branch in both hands, dug the other into the ground about
a foot in front of him, and took his first cautious, stumbling step. The muscles of his right leg
didn't feel like responding, instead screaming in resistance, but eventually they shuddered
into movement. The pain was horrible, but not bad enough to make him stop. He was too
vulnerable under the starlit sky. The Doctor couldn't believe he had allowed himself to fall
into a coma in such an exposed area – not that he'd had much choice in the matter. But now
he did and he had to keep moving.

He threw one last glance towards the water and felt a shudder run through him that had
nothing to do with pain. The river was quite now, running lazily beneath the light of the three
moons above, but the Doctor could still hear it, could still feel the pressure of it in his ears,
feel it barraging his body, taste it sliding down this throat and –

The Doctor flinched. He had to get moving.

One foot in front of the other. Left foot, then the stick, then lurch forward with the right. Left
foot, then the stick, then lurch forward with the right. It was slow going, but eventually the
Doctor made it to the tree line. No stopping now. The Doctor wasn't sure he'd be able to get
going again if he did. Left foot, then the stick, then lurch forward with the right.

You need to move. Left foot, then the stick, then lurch forward with the right.

You need to go. Left foot, then the stick, then lurch forward with the right.

You need to walk. Left foot, then the stick, then lurch forward with the right.

He kept the mantra going as the trees became thicker and the canopy above heavier.
Something inherent told him he was going the wrong direction, but it didn't matter at the
moment. He could get his bearings in the morning when the sun was out and his body had a
few more hours to recover. For now he needed to find shelter. He scanned the underbrush for
a suitable place to hide as he walked. Climbing a tree and getting off the ground was
definitely out of the question, so he had no other choice than to find something on the forest
floor.

Half an hour passed. Sweat had formed along the Doctor brow from the effort of simply
moving, damping his shirt once more. It was somehow stiff and sticky all at the same time.

An hour passed and the Doctor suddenly realized he'd stopped looking for a place to hide.
His vision had tunneled, making the edges blurry and dark. The Doctor hadn't even noticed
the clearing he'd stumbled into. The mantra had become deafening in his own mind until it
was all he could think about. Spotting a fallen log off to the north side of the glade, the
Doctor made his way over to it and collapsed, letting exhaustion pull his body down. The
stick fell limply from his shaking hands.

"Well…this sucks."

It was the most obvious statement he'd ever made, and for some reason that caused the
Doctor to start laughing. The chuckling hurt the ribs healing in his chest, but somehow the
action made him feel lighter, almost giddy. Not pain-free, but as if the pain belonged to
someone else – someone distantly connected to him, but someone else nonetheless. He
leaned forward so he could rest his elbows on his knees, creating an uncomfortable angle
through his bruised torso, but the near silent laughter that gripped him now was nearly too
much and almost caused him to over balance off the back of the log.

It was all just so….stupid. The trials, the slavery, the fighting for his worthless life, the fact
that this whole debacle started because the Doctor just had to make a comment about some
overly-sensitive native Drepheshie's ridiculous hat. If the Doctor had just been able to keep
his trap shut once, he and Rose would be back safely in the TARDIS, gallivanting off to who
knew where next, laughing at the absurdity of their actions together. But now Rose wasn't
here to laugh with him. In fact, she'd probably be mortified if she was watching him now, and
for some reason that only made the Doctor laugh even harder. Now at last she could see him
for the Time Lord he truly was – cowardly, idealistic, insane.

It was…it was almost a relief. No more lying, no more pretending to be something he wasn't,
distracting everyone with cheeky one-liners and technological gibberish even he knew didn't
make any sense. Now Rose could realize it on her own, and therefore his death wouldn't
mean as much to her anymore. Which was a huge comfort since, considering the Doctor had
been being followed for the last fifteen minutes, his death sure seemed pretty imminent.

"You can come out, you know." The Doctor managed to call out over his giggles. "Didn't
your mother ever teach you that it's rude to play with your food?"

The Doctor didn't even see her coming. No sooner had the words left his lips then he felt a
hand clamp down around his throat, a body pressed close against his back. He took an
involuntary gasp of air, hearts leaping at the sudden touch, and was amazed to realize he had
the energy to be surprised after all.

"Oh, what this?" A horrible, silky voice cooed into his ear. "Have you grown tired of our
game so soon, little mouse?"

"The cat and mouse analogy? Really? Rassilon, if you're going to kill me you could at least
be creative with the foreplay –" The Doctor cut himself off as sharp nails raked against his
vulnerable neck. Instinctively, the Doctor tilted his head away from the pressure, trying to
alleviate the threat but only succeeding in presenting his throat even more to Eight's vile
teeth.

"Kill you! Now whatever gave you that idea?"

The Doctor couldn't help it – he started laughing again. "I don't know…might have been the
hand around my throat. Or the razor sharp teeth hovering just above my vein. Or the fact that
I overheard you torturing Eleven while trying to hunt me down. Pretty incriminating if you
ask me."

"Well, you can rest assured that I don't want to kill you." As if to counter her own words,
Eight gently pressed her teeth against his neck, not hard enough to break skin but enough to
send a shudder through the Doctor's shattered body. "I just want to hurt you a lot." She said it
almost soothingly, voice sultry like a lover trying to entice her mate. "Taste you on my lips. I
just want to make you bleed. Make you break."

"Yeah, well, you're a bit too late for that last one, so you might as well get it over with." The
Doctor was stunned by the lack of emotion in his own voice. It was as if it didn't matter to
him at all – it really didn't – whether he lived or died right then and there, sitting on a log in
the middle of some foreign forest, alone and defeated. The last Time Lord, beaten by an
overused Hollywood stereotype.

Eight made a disappointed sound. "But that's no fun." Grabbing the Doctor by the collar of
his shirt, Eight threw him bodily away from her. The Doctor fell into the dirt, a cry of pain
escaping him. He'd landed on his right side.
Eight stalked towards him from around the log, a ravenous glint in her eyes, impossibly sharp
teeth glistening in the moonlight as she smiled. The Doctor forced himself not to scamper
backwards, crushing the instinct to get as far away as he possibly could from a threat. "I want
you to put up a fight." Eight spoke beseechingly. "I promised my master you'd have a slow,
agonizing last night in this universe, but you have to help me out, pretty boy."

"Why does everyone keep calling me 'pretty boy'?" The Doctor sneered. "No, wait, more
importantly: why does you master want me dead?"

Eight groaned loudly as she towered over his prone form. "Aren't you listening? I thought
you were supposed to be clever. Master doesn't want you dead, he wants you in agony." She
swung a kick at his side, but even as worn out as he was the Doctor was still fast. He rolled
out of the way, propelling himself back towards the log while ignoring the fiery blasts even
the tiniest bit of movement sent shooting through his body.

"But why?" The Doctor found himself asking again. How easy it was to fall into familiar
patterns, trying to get the enemy talking instead of acting. What was the point of it? He was
already in pain, what was a little more? "Who's your master? Why does he want me in
agony?"

"You think I ask those types of questions? I was trained at Eyal, too, you know. Questioning
your master – not really the company's policy, is it?" Eight grabbed the Doctor once again by
the lapels of his shirt and dragged him to his feet. "Now fight me." She practically purred. "I
want to see if you taste as sweet as that silly little cat."

Eight shoved him backward. The back of the Doctor's calves stuck the log hard enough to
bruise and he felt his body reel dangerously off balance. With footwork faster than he thought
himself capable of the Doctor managed to leap over the fallen trunk, barely managing to keep
his stability.

"You killed Six."

"You're awfully fascinated with death." Eight chuckled. "No, I didn't kill her either. I just
helped the little kitty along her way. You always want your prey alive when you're feeding,
after all. Keep it twitching until the last second. Makes the taste stronger, richer – all that
blood pulsing rapid-fire through panicked veins. Mmm…" Eight licked her lips obscenely,
tongue running along the edge of her barbed teeth. "Delicious."

The Doctor's face twisted with horror. "That's disgusting."

Eight's face twisted with mirth. "That's your future."

Suddenly, laying down and accepting his fate didn't sound so appealing. Defiance sung
through his bones, an achingly familiar tune that churned like fire in his gut. "No." The
Doctor growled as he slowly skirted around the log towards the edge of the clearing. Eight
mirrored his steps, black eyes flickering with excitement as her prey finally began to play
along. The Doctor's toe caught on the edge of his walking stick and he froze. "No, it's no. I
may not be able to see the future, but I can feel it. It's spinning just as surely as this planet,
one thread at a time, and though I might not be able to tell whether I'm part of that web or
not, I can tell you one thing for damnsure: The future is my realm. Time is my playground.
And you do not get to tell me what my future holds."

"Passionate speech." Eight jibed back. "Is your plan of attack to monologue me to death?"

"No. That was just the distraction."

The Doctor jerked his foot up, sending the walking stick flying into the air. He caught it with
ease and lunged forward, driving the blunt end of the staff forcefully into Eight's chest. Eight
stumbled backwards with a surprised "ooof!" and clutched at her chest. The Doctor leapt
closer and spun around fast as a top, swinging the stick for momentum before sticking out
towards the alien's side. Eight dropped into a roll, narrowly avoiding the hit, and the Doctor
surged after her, aiming a blow straight for her head while she was still prone on the floor.
Eight caught the end of the stick at the last minute and jerked hard. Unwilling to release his
only weapon, the Doctor careened forward, driven by the impossibly strong strength of the
pull. He did a somersault over Eight's body and used the propulsion as leverage to wrench the
stick out from between Eight's strong grasp.

Everything was going perfectly until the Doctor's back hit the ground. Pain exploded through
his body, ricocheting through every nerve and causing him to cry out in anguish. His right leg
was bent awkwardly beneath him and all oxygen seemed to simply vanish from his lungs
with the force of the fall. Knowing he needed to keep moving – Keep going. Keep walking. –
the Time Lord pushing himself onto one knee just in time to block a slash of deadly nails
aimed for his throat. So much for no killing. He swung the stick over his head and felt it
collide with something behind him. Something heavy and rock hard that had definitely not
been there before.

The knowledge had barely even registered before that something clamped down on his neck.
Cold, unyielding stone wrapped around his throat and lifted him off the ground, immediately
cutting off all air. Panic gripped the Doctor. He knew it wasn't real, but he could feel water
sliding down his throat, filling his lungs and setting them on fire. Suffocating was far too
similar to drowning.

"Oh, come one now, the fun was just getting started!" Eight whined like a loomling. "I had
him entirely."

"What, and let you take all the joy?" An earthquake responded against the Doctor's back. He
could feel the vibrations of the words echo through his body. He'd forgotten about Number
Seven. How could he be so stupid?

The stick fell to the ground with a thud as the Doctor's fingers desperately tried to pry the
hand off his throat. It was like trying to dislodge a boulder with a twig. The attempt was so
pathetic even Rocky started laughing. What a horrible, horrible sound.

"You…..cheated." The Doctor barely managed to wheeze.

Eight only shrugged. "Oh well, what's done is done. You're a lousy fight anyway. If I may?"
She motioned towards Rocky, who instantly moved his hand away from the Doctor's throat to
hold him by the shoulders. The Doctor gasped for breath, air rattling back into his abused
lungs, but he didn't get to enjoy it long. Looking far too excited, Eight grabbed him by the
chin, forcibly tipping his head to the side, and plunged her teeth into the Doctor's neck.

"AHHHHHHHHH!"

It BURNED! Like fire racing through his veins, more painful than anything he'd ever felt
before. It set his very nerves aflame, eating through him like acid, carried through his body
by the terrified pounding of his hearts. He felt Eight slurping away at the blood bubbling up
along his neck, heard her hum with joy as she drank his life force and replaced it with agony
beyond compare. The Doctor was sure he was thrashing violently within the two aliens'
grasps, body desperate to escape the torment, but he couldn't feel anything beyond the fire
and sucking and dying.

Dying. Surely he was dying. What else could this be? Eight had lied. The Doctor was going
to die, and it didn't have any of the appeal he thought it would. It was hell. Eternal. Merciless.
He just wanted it to stop.

And by some miracle…it did. The agony slowly ebbed away, moving from his neck down his
arms and torso, through his legs, all the way to the tips of his toes and the top of his head. He
felt…nothing. Nothing internal, nothing of himself. He couldn't even feel his own hearts,
couldn't hear his own breathing although he gasped and cried with misery. His leg still ached,
his ribs still seared, his throat still throbbed around the gaping wound – but apart from the
pain that had already been present he felt nothing.

He could feel Rocky release him as Eight stepped away, wiping red-orange blood from her
simpering mouth. The Doctor quickly tried to get his feet beneath him, but it was as if his
legs wouldn't comply. They remained limp, dead and useless, oblivious to his commands as
the Doctor fell to the ground. He collapsed face first into the dirt, arms also refusing to move
to block his fall. Nothing would move. He was frozen, paralyzed.

"Mmmmmm!" He could hear Eight moaning happily above him but could not turn to see.
"Oh, you taste exquisite. Mmmmm, I could suck you dry right here and now. But not yet."
Something in her voice changed suddenly. It was hard, cold, no longer playful. "Take his
shirt. Tie him to that tree branch."

Hands grabbed his shoulders and flipped him over. "No…" The Doctor groaned, barely able
to make his tongue form sounds. It was the most resistance he could muster as Rocky yanked
his shirt off over his head. He was like a rag doll, completely at his enemies' mercy. Mercy he
knew they didn't have.

"Wha…what…How….?"

"I said we keep our prey alive," Eight explained condescendingly. "I never said we keep
them functional."

Shirt gone, Rocky grabbed him by the hair and dragged him across the clearing towards the
tree Eight had indicated. Even though he couldn't move, the Doctor still felt everything. He
felt the hairs parting from his scalp, felt his broken body grazing against hard stones, felt his
blood still pulsing from his neck.
"N-no….s-s-stop." The Doctor now knew why Eleven had been stuttering, why her
contrachromation had been so on the fritz. He had no control of his own body – he could only
watch and feel as he was lifted up and heaved against the tree's strong trunk. Rocky took all
of the Doctor's weight as he lifted one of his hand and then the other, looping them over a
sturdy branch above and wrapping his wrists in what was left of the Doctor's shirt. The knot
was loose and sloppy, but it hardly mattered – the Doctor wasn't going anywhere. It was only
to keep him upright as Eight crept up to him, still licking his blood off her chin.

"Oooh, you are skinny. And so beautifully bruised. Where should I begin?"

"W-wh-why?" The Doctor whimpered, desperate to know the reason he deserved this hell. If
he was going to die, he wanted to know why. "What…wh-what did I…do?"

Eight looked surprised at that. "What did you do?" She laughed horribly. "Nothing! You didn't
do anything. You were just bought by the wrong man. My master has been searching for a
way to declare war on your whorehound of a master for ages. And now that the Ligtech
emperor has fallen…all hail the new king." She giggled as she sliced her nails through the
sensitive skin of the Doctor's underarm. Feeling each rip of flesh, the Doctor cried out, unable
to stop the sound.

"At least, that's what I heard." Eight amended casually as if she wasn't sucking the Doctor's
torn skin out from beneath her nails. "Like I said, I don't ask many questions. Now be a good
boy, do as your trainer taught you, and hush. Mummy's busy making art."

Eight slashed and split and sliced, nails carving bleeding trails of agony across the Doctor's
chest and torso. She raked her fingers from elbow to shoulder, laughing as the Doctor
screamed. It hurt so, so, so much more than it should have. The Time Lord lost himself in the
pain, desperately trying to convulse his way out of her reach but entirely unable to move a
single muscle besides his voice. He couldn't even close his eyes. He was forced to watch as
Eight signaled for Rocky to come forward, the giant mountain of an alien grinning like a
horrible gorge. He was forced to watch as Rocky plowed one boulder-like fist into his sides at
a time, shattering his already fragile ribs and threatening to turn his insides into mulch. He
was forced to watch as Eight slithered back up to him, jagged nails digging into his already
gaping injuries, as she nipped and bit at his shoulders and collar bone, sending smaller yet
equally painful bolts of liquid torture through his veins.

Tears leaked unbidden down his face, throat raw from screaming, vision tunneling as all he
saw was Eight laughing at him, lapping at his blood, and Rocky cracking his knuckles like a
schoolyard bully. And all the while the Doctor knew this isn't my fault. For what felt like the
first time in his long, tormented life, the Doctor knew he hadn't done anything to deserve this.
He hadn't made some stupid comment about some overly-sensitive native Drepheshie's hat,
he hadn't sparked a war with just his words, he hadn't annihilated two entire species in a
desperate, impulsive act to reach unattainable peace. He hadn't done anything!

"P-p-p-please." The Doctor sobbed. Eight's nails felt like they were laced with the same
venom as her teeth, searing into his skin and eating away at everything that was him. "P-
please stop-p-p."
When they grew bored of his front – or maybe uninspired by the lack of unmarred skin – they
twisted him painfully around in his bonds and started over on his back, Eight eagerly
suggesting new patterns so the red of her gashes could merge more beautifully with the black
of Rocky's bruises. The Doctor's forehead fell limply against the tree trunk.

"N-no…please…stop –"

They didn't. They continued to beat him within an inch of his life and the Doctor couldn't
help but reach out desperately for that illusive respite. How quickly he'd gone from courting
death to desperately evading it to begging for it once again. If his voice could be used for
anything besides screaming, he would have asked. Would have pleaded for it. Only death
could make this better. Only death could save him now.

It was hours, ages, centuries before some other noise besides his shrieking and Eight's
laughing and Rocky's grumbling suddenly broke the air. A heavy, repetitive pounding split
the sudden silence of the clearing. Blinding lights flooded the Doctor's eyes – thank Rassilon
he was still facing the trunk of the tree, unable to close his eyes against the horrific onslaught.
Eight hissed, pulling her teeth out of the Doctor's spine between his shoulder blades in
surprise.

"Klovk!" Rocky cursed loudly. "Snatchers! We have to go!" The Doctor heard Eight whine
and felt her sink her teeth more desperately into his shoulder. The Doctor couldn't scream
anymore. "LEAVE HIM! Get out!"

Eight's teeth suddenly ripped out of his skin more forcefully than ever before.
"Don't touch me!" Eight roared. "He's almost done."

The thudding, whirling noise was even louder, the light even brighter. "They'll finish him,
you've done your job! I'm not getting snatched over this pathetic excuse for a player!"

"Fine." Eight sneered. She leaned against the Doctor's mutilated back, teeth snapping at the
broken Time Lord's ear in a final farewell. "It has been a pleasure, pretty boy. My master's
sends his regards."

And with that they were gone. The Doctor could dimly hear the snatcher ship getting closer
even as a horribly familiar rushing sound filled his ears. It was water gushing over stones. It
was air leaving his lungs. He smiled as the noise became too deafening, as the snatcher's
propellers silenced and the thud of machinery striking soil reverberated through the clearing.
He could barely hear the shouting in his ear, could hardly feel the hands – painless, careful
hands – clutching at his ruined arms. The Doctor couldn't bring himself to be concerned,
knowing there was nothing he could do to harm anyone else anymore. Praying Jancon would
stay true to his word, activate the virus in his chip, and end it all.
 Chapter 55

It was a cruel, cruel creature who took it upon itself to be his god. A cruel, heartless creature
that found pleasure in his suffering, in his pain, and disallowed his much desired slip into
oblivion. One day, the Time Lord vowed, he would find this creature wherever it was hiding,
chuckling over the lonely man's misfortune from its dark and desolate cave, and he would rip
the monster limb from limb. He would tear out the demon's heart and sew its empty chest
back together so only the torment, hate, and anguish would remain. That he would do, and
inflict upon the creature that so wrongly called itself his god the same pain he felt as he was
pushed, unceremoniously, back to consciousness.

So he hadn't died. The Doctor would have ground his teeth if he'd had any inclination to
move. As it was though, the very thought of motion made the Time Lord's head reel and
aching body groan in distaste. But he was moving. He could feel something humming and
vibrating beneath him – small vibrations, like from the engine of a ship, but not as harsh and
jarring as the frequency of the humming would suggest. Which meant there was something
between him and direct contact with the metal hull of what was surely the snatchers' shuttle.
Either he had subconsciously mastered the art of levitation – something he'd been trying to
conquer for a few hundred years now…it's amazing how difficult the small act happens to be
– or he had been laid out on some sort of soft, protective surface.

Neither option was entirely likely. The snatcher wouldn't have let a mere slave rest on a mat
or mattress when the unforgiving floor was perfectly accommodating. Not to mention the fact
that if he were with the snatchers, and if his master had any sense of decency and mercy, he
would not have been alive enough to notice the difference, anyway.

Although…the Doctor didn't feel as dead as he expected. Breathing meditatively through his
nose, eyes still closed, the Doctor willed his left index finger to move. To his immense
surprise, it did. Next he wiggled his toes, slowly and thoughtfully, before scrunching up his
nose. All of his amenities, everything that hadn't cooperated moments ago to protect him,
now responded readily. Eight's poison was potent, but apparently did not have a very long
lifespan.

This new awareness of his body came with the realization that he was lying on his side.
Despite the soft surface beneath him, his shoulder and hipbone – both too prominent now
thanks to his near starvation over the last few months – were sore from the pressure of
holding his weight, making the position fairly uncomfortable. Using more energy than he
thought he was capable of, the Doctor managed to shift himself over onto his back instead.

And immediately realized why he'd been placed on his side. He drew in a sharp gasp of pain
as the welts and gashes across his back flared up in anger. Instantly regretting his decision,
the Doctor tried to push himself back onto his side, but now his front seemed to want in on
the drama. The cuts pulled painfully on the ruined skin of his chest as he tried to breathe
through the assault, causing him to cry out to the complete opposite effect. Instinct told him
to ward off whatever was causing the attack and so he did, raising his arms to defend himself
from the invisible enemy. Instead of protection the Doctor was met with even more distress
as his sore shoulders groaned at the movement and barely obeyed his commands to stay
raised.

"Stop moving, you idiot, you're going to tear you stitches."

This caused the Doctor to freeze. Not only was he not expecting anyone to be near him, but
he definitely wasn't expecting the exasperated American accent that greeted him.

"Jack…?" The Doctor groaned weakly, trying to wrap his groggy brain around the reason
Captain Jack would be here. Maybe he wasn't. Maybe the Doctor's mind had finally broken
and was about to present him with a grand parade of his biggest regrets. That must be it. Jack
couldn't be here. Jack was on Satellite 5. Jack was wrong.

"Damn, how many Americans do you know in space?"

No, now he could tell it wasn't Jack. Jack had a distinct west coast accent, whereas this one
was more southeastern. Florida, maybe? South Carolina?

"Too many, apparently." His mouth was saying before he'd thought about it. The Doctor still
hadn't opened his eyes, remembering far too well the horror he'd been forced to watch his
own body go through. He could still see her smiling, the blood staining her teeth and dripping
down her chin. His blood.

Maybe having his eyes closed was, in fact, worse if these were the images that greeted him.
Stealing himself, the Doctor slowly forced his eyelids to part. Everything was a dull, blurry
haze, but slowly the picture started to come into focus. He was staring up at a dark brown
ceiling, crisscrossed with exposed pipes and twisted wiring, and a face he was certain he'd
never see again.

"Ren?"

Gone were the orange eyes and ridges on his nose, but there was no mistaking the wayward
outpost captain looming over him. The last time the Doctor had seen the man, his eyes had
been hard and uncaring as Rose and the Doctor were shuttled onto the Eyal transport vessel.
Now, the Doctor could see the worry plain as day in the human's eyes, which were now a
startling blue.

"Glad to see you're back." Ren responded gruffly with a short nod. "You looked half dead
when I found you. How are you feeling?"

"About as good as I look, apparently." The Doctor let his eyes slip shut again, exhausted from
the meager effort it took to focus on the human's face. Not that it mattered if his eyes were
open or not. He was hallucinating, clearly, or maybe dreaming. It was far too surreal that it
had to be a delusion of some sort, why else would he see Ren? But if he was dreaming, why
not of Rose? Why couldn't he dream in his final moments of her soft face, her kind smile, her
gentle laugh? What was it that Danish prince had said? 'To die, to sleep: To sleep, perchance
to dream – ay, there's the rub, for in this sleep of death what dreams may come?'

"Hamlet?"
This got the Doctor's attention again. One eye peered open as he stared back up at Ren,
confusion clearly written across his features as the human quickly continued, "You were
quoting Hamlet."

The Doctor hadn't even realized he'd spoken his thoughts out loud. "How do you
know Hamlet?"

Ren scoffed. "I might not be a time traveler like you and Rose, but for some reason the
people of Earth are still trying to shove Shakespeare down their kids' throats."

"I…" The Doctor stopped, not entirely sure what he'd been about to say. Instead he tried to
push his tired body up onto his elbows. The pain that flared through him was much too real
for this to be some devil's dream. He cried out and flopped back down onto the mat,
aggravating his injuries even more.

"Stop moving." Ren grumbled as he gently helped roll the Time Lord back onto his side. "It
took me a long time to get you all patched up, I'm not doing it again."

"Has anyone ever told you you have magnificent bedside manners?" The Doctor moaned.

Ren gave a small, sad smile. "It's come up once or twice before."

"How did you find me? What-what happened to –"

"That freaky vampire chick that was using you as a piñata?" Ren supplied. He shrugged
coolly. "Ran off with that rock thing the moment they saw my ship. Good thing, too. I don't
have the fire power to take on a mountain – if that guy's skin was really as tough as it
looked."

"It was." The Doctor croaked as he remembered the feeling to that thing's fingers around his
throat. "But how did…you know where I was? I-" A violent coughing fit interrupted him.
Ren quickly handed the Doctor a small tin cup full with lukewarm water, but the liquid only
seemed to irritate him more. The feeling of it sliding down his throat was worse than any of
the dry and scraping heaves. It took several more moments for the Doctor to get his breathing
back under control enough for him to finish. "I didn't even know where I was."

"Then you're probably the only one. They're broadcasting these Trials all across the system.
Under layers and layers of covert coding, mind you, but they're not exactly being discreet
about it. I guess the rich and noble can't be bothered with legal repercussions."

"We're just slaves, who would care enough to fight it, anyway?"

Now that honest response finally got a real reaction out of the human. Ren's pale eyes
widened, staring down at the Doctor as if only just seeing him for the first time. A deep,
troubled frown fell across his face. "That's not the man I met back at the outpost.

The Doctor gave a hollow laugh. "No. You sold that man to Eyal."

"I didn't sell you." Ren growled back defensively. "And I'm trying to make up for it now. I
left only a couple weeks after you and Rose did. There were talks of an uprising at the post - I
knew I had to leave before they figured out what I really was. Without my cover, you and
Rose were my only hope. I tried to buy you from Eyal myself, but you had both already been
sold."

"Yeah, that's what happens to people when they're slaves." The Doctor didn't know why he
was being so hostile towards Ren, only that he couldn't seem to stop. The man was trying to
save him – had saved him – had patched him up, offered him water, talked to him like he was
more than just an object to command. But that didn't change the fact that that man stood by
and watched Rose get sold into slavery without so much as lifting his own finger to defend a
terrified member of his own species. Whatever had provoked him into taking action, the
Doctor knew it hadn't been for selfless reasons.

Desperate to change the topic (or rather knowing nothing they said on the subject would lead
to a civil conversation) the Doctor asked, "Where are we going? We need to get Rose."

Ren jumped on the new subject. "We're going to her now. I got the coordinates for Ligtech's
estate from a receptionist at Eyal. I would have been there much sooner if I hadn't found out
you'd been placed in the Trials and had to basically turn around. I had hoped Rose would be
with you…but now I thank God she wasn't. I don't think any human could have survived
what you did."

At least that they could agree on. "How far are we from the estate?"

"Not too far. We've made good time, but this ship is old and clunky. Just about the only thing
that really works is the navigation and transmission dampeners." So the ship had transmission
dampeners. Maybe Jancon had been merciful and tried to help end his life, but the signal
wouldn't have been able to reach him inside the shuttle anyway. The Doctor didn't really
know how he felt about that. "- It's managed to chug along for the last three days," Ren
continued speaking, "but who knows how much longer it'll last. We might have to
commandeer one of the Prebassador's – I'm sure he has plenty from what I hear."

The Doctor felt something in his chest sink as he realized what Ren was saying. "Three days.
Do you mean…?"

Ren nodded solemnly. "It's been almost seventy hours since I found you. You've been
unconscious the entire time except for a short break right after I cut you down. You kept
mumbling something in some alien language, I didn't know what you were trying to say."

Three days. Three Days. How…that couldn't…the Doctor didn't know which thought terrified
him more: the fact that it had been three days since anyone had seen him being taken,
meaning Rose probably thought he really was dead, or the fact that his Time Lord senses had
been so dulled they couldn't even tell the proper progression of time.

"No time to waste then." The Doctor knew it was now time to stop indulging in his pain.
Pushing it as far back as he could into the recesses of his mind, the Time Lord slowly began
pushing himself back up, swinging his legs over the side of the bed and nearly kicking Ren in
the process. "Come on, help me up."
"What? No, you're not going anywhere." Ren growled, trying to push the Doctor back down
again. The Doctor merely swatted the hand away.

"I am too going somewhere." It came out as a grunt as the Doctor forced his feet beneath
him. "The engine room, to be exact." Please, please let his knees hold his weight. If not, there
was going to be a very quick and very painful fall very near in his future. "Going to see what
kind of tinkering I can do to give these turbines a little more oomph. Uggh –"

His legs managed to hold in up for three marvelous seconds before deciding they'd had
enough of that for the time being and crumpled beneath him. Had it not been for Ren quickly
grabbing him under the arms and dropping him back on the bed, the Doctor would surely
have face planted.

"You're not doing any tinkering. You need to rest."

"I can tinker in my sleep." The Doctor shot back with far less conviction than he'd hoped.

"Doctor, I shit you not, I will tie you to this cot if that's what it takes. You're no used to me
too injured to walk."

"Oh, because it's all about how useful I can be to you." The venom from before is back and
Ren visibly rolled his eyes in exasperation. "Well, I'm not doing it for you, am I, Captain?
Now let me up or you'll find yourself one Time Lord short and I promise you that's all it
takes."

Ren had the audacity to laugh. "I don't think you're really in the position be able to act on a
threat." He retorted no unkindly.

"I can always act on a threat. It just might not be in the way you expect. Or in the right
order." He added more as an afterthought.

Ren smiled sadly at the Doctor, almost understandingly, and the Doctor was filled with both
the desire to lash out at his pity and to smile back at the first sign of concern he'd seen in a
while. Ren's hand rested on his shoulder, gently rubbing its way down his upper arm in an
attempt to be comforting. "I'm sorry, Doctor. I know this must be hard for you." His hand
moved all the way down to the Doctor hand before there's an audible click and something
cold suddenly encircled the Doctor's wrist. Before the Time Lord could properly react, Ren
attached the other side of the handcuffs to the cot's metal frame and took a quick step back.

Snarling, the Doctor jerked on the chain, but the only result was a throb pain ricocheting
through his arm and shoulder. "Seriously?!" The Doctor growled when the cuff proved to
have no give.

"Yes." Ren all but chuckled. "See, unlike you, I can act on my threats. In the right order. And
in the way I promise them." He smiled as the Doctor could only glare up at him. "Don't be
like that. We'll be there in two days. Max. You look like shit, do you really want Rose to see
you like this – all battered and exhausted?"
The Doctor didn't stop the glaring, but he did lean back against his pillow once again,
grudgingly agreeing.

Now that his attention was draw to it, the Doctor realized just how heavy his eyelids felt.
Exhaustion pressed against him like a physical weight. Maybe – since he was chained up
anyway – he could spoil himself with a small nap. Ten minutes. Maybe twenty. No more than
twenty-five. Shooting the Captain one last irate look, the Doctor let his eyelids slip shut with
a grumbled "fine."

Ren visibly relaxed as the Doctor settled down. "Thank you. Try to sleep. You can eat when
you wake up." Careful that he might ruin the surprisingly sudden amnesty that fell between
them, Ren quietly crept towards the door and pulled it open. He'd almost forgotten about the
oversized cargo half blocking the doorway on the other side and nearly rammed into it.
Cursing, Ren growled under his breath, "Then maybe you can show me how to get your
stupid blue box out of my hallway."

The Doctor's eyes flew open. "My stupid what?"

 Chapter 56
Chapter Notes

So....Hi! How's everyone been? So, yeah, let's talk about the last 6.5 years...

Six and a half years ago my computer had a major melt down and I completely lost all
of my documents - all of my WIPs, past fics, and the final chapters of this one. I had the
last 5 chapters written already and, honestly, I just didn't have the time or interest in
rewriting them at the time. I thought that maybe one day I'd go back to it, but inspiration
never came, so I abandoned this work. Fast forward to this last weekend, when I found
an unassuming flash drive while going through my mom's stuff. I don't even remember
saving this story off of my old computer, but when I pulled up the folder there it was,
with those final chapters written and ready to go.

I still don't have the time to rewrite the ending, so I'm going to post those chapters just
as I wrote them all those years ago, with maybe a bit of editing for spelling and grammar
issues. If you've been here since the beginning, welcome back! And I'm so sorry for
neglecting this for so long. And if you're new here, welcome! It's almost like you get to
time travel yourselves and skip all those years of hiatus!

True to his word, Ren refused to release the Doctor from his handcuffs. No matter how the
Time Lord pleaded and logicked – because "yes, that IS an appropriate use of the word,
Captain!" – in the end all Ren had to do to end the conversation was close the door and walk
away.

The Doctor slumped back against the cot, a strange sort of pressure building up inside his
chest as he stared at the sealed door. His TARDIS was just on the other side of that sheet of
metal, his beloved companion. He reached out for her with his thoughts, scenting and
prodding at the familiar pathways that connected their minds and souls the way one might
reach out a hand for a long lost friend you're not entirely sure is there, but he felt nothing in
return. Panic set in and sent his hearts thumping wildly. The force of his heartbeats against
this torn chest physically hurt, but not as much as the terrifying theory welling up inside him.

He couldn't feel his TARDIS. He couldn't feel her conscience rubbing up against his, couldn't
feel her sentience surrounding him like a warm blanket, the pull of her power or the comfort
of her friendship. If he hadn't seen the edge of her deviously wooden hull when Ren
wrenched open the door he would have conceded that she wasn't there at all. It would have
been a far less painful conclusion. Maybe Ren found the wrong blue box in the desert. Maybe
he'd been mistaken. But the Doctor would know that shade of blue anywhere, would
recognize the shape and texture of his closest companion even from this distance. She was
there – but he couldn't feel her.
What if she was gone? They had been away from any sort of time rift for too long, and if
she'd been calling out for him this whole time, loyal to the end, it would be no surprise if the
energy that kept her alive had simply….dissolved. The same feeling of hollow remorse he'd
felt when they'd crash landed in the alternate universe washed over him. He was stuck.
Trapped. Bound to whatever planet and whatever time he ended up in forever. And worse,
he'd trapped Rose again as well. He'd promised he'd get her home. At least last time she'd had
London, had Mickey, had her family. Now all she had was him – worthless, stupid him.

Maybe that was the problem. Maybe it was him. Maybe he was too far gone, too broken and
bent into something he never wanted to be, something so very not the Doctor, that his ship
wouldn't – couldn't – even recognize him. Was his mind too shattered, his will too crushed,
his character too crippled to be the Time Lord he was? Was he worthy of that title anymore?
Was his ship trying to tell him that? Was she abandoning him as well?

In desperate denial, the Doctor yanked at the cuff, sending a shot of pain up his arm. His
wrist was already too weakened and damaged from hanging from that tree to put up much of
a fight against the strong metal. The cot was bolted to the ground as well, no doubt to keep
the furniture from knocking around during messy flight maneuvers or if the artificial gravity
wore off, so he wouldn't be able to drag the bed across the room with him either. Not that the
Doctor thought he'd be able to stand at all, really.

Maybe it was for the best, the Doctor thought as he gingerly lowered himself back onto the
mattress. It would have been too much to be so near, to physically touch her and know
beyond a shadow of a doubt that she had given up on him. At least this way he could curl in
on himself and pretend it wasn't real for a few more hours. Pretend his gut wasn't writhing
and revolting with the hot burn of betrayal, terribly at odds with the icy bolts of shame
striking up his spine. For a few more hours he could pretend he was healing even though this
moment hurt more than any injury Eight had inflicted on him, and for a few more hours the
Doctor could pretend he didn't still resent the fact that Jancon's virus had been so easily
blocked by the transmission dampeners.

The transmission dampeners.

An hour later, Ren returned to find the Doctor sitting bolt upright along the edge of the cot,
looking as if he hadn't gotten a moment of rest. His wounds still stood out starkly against his
pale chest and his eyes were rimmed with darkness from exhaustion, but his eyes themselves
were alert and determined. "Turn off the dampeners." Was all he said in greeting.

Ren scoffed and nudged the door closed again with his hip, hands preoccupied with carrying
a can of slightly steaming soup and a mug of water. "You can't be serious."

"I am." The Doctor replied resolutely.

"That'd be suicide. We're being followed, these things are too prideful to let something like
you slip through their fingers. If we turn off the dampeners they'll be able to see our ship.
You'll be thrown back into slavery."

"That's only if they catch us."

"Which they will. We're still two days away from reaching Rose and their ships are much,
much faster than ours."

"We don't need to evade them from two days, just for a few hours. You won't let me up until
I'm healed, I understand that, and frankly I don't think I could get up even if I wanted to right
now," Ren made a strange noise of agreement through his nose. "But I need my ship. It's hard
to explain, but it's not just a hulking pile of blue wood. We're connected and it can help heal
me. I know it sounds insane –" The Doctor quickly added as Ren rolled his eyes.

"No, not just insane but fake, too."

"One hour." The Doctor bargained. "Just one hour. It won't be enough for whoever's
following us – if anyone's even following us – to catch our scent, but I guarantee you'll be
able to see a difference before that hour's up." Or at least he hoped there'd be a difference. A
small voice in the back of his head kept telling him not to try, not to bother, because what if
the dampeners actually didn't have anything to do with it? What if he was just thinking
wishfully and his connection with the TARDIS really had been severed? What if the
dampeners were turned off and nothing happened?

"You just need rest."

"No, I need my TARDIS." The Doctor snapped. Ren looked almost startled by the surety in
the Doctor's voice, so he pressed on. "And I'm not going to rest until it happens. So you have
two options. You can leave me here and I will find my way out of these cuffs and into my
ship. That soup looks like it'd make a great lubricant and I'm skinny enough that I'm willing
to bet my wrist will just slide out of the cuff in no time. But after wasting that much time
trying to get away, who knows if I'll want to stick around any longer and wait for you to be
ready to leave."

"Are you threatening me?" Ren growled.

"Yes. Or you can leave me chained up – Rassilon knows I'm used to it by now – and I'll stay
in bed and rest to your singular heart's content and then whisk you away back to Earth as
soon as you're ready. But only if you turn off the damned dampeners." '

The two men stared at each other as one minute stretched onto the next, neither willing to
back down until the Doctor dealt his final blow. "Ren, I have nothing to lose by taking the
first option except for a little bit of blood. You have everything to lose. Don't make me regret
having to make a tough choice. After serving too many others for the past few months and
getting nothing in return, I will do what's right by me and Rose before I worry about anyone
else."

Several more seconds of tension passed before Ren visibly surrendered. His shoulders
slumped and he dropped his head as his eyes closed with a groan. "You're not exactly leaving
me much of a choice, are you? Fine. But finish your damn soup first." He thrust the can of
now lukewarm broth into the Doctor's free hand. "And try not to choke on it."

The Doctor couldn't help the grin spreading across his face. "Aye, aye, Captain." Ren just
rolled his eyes and slammed the door behind him.
Leaning back against the wall behind him, the Doctor wasn't sure whether he should actually
be celebrating yet or not. There was still that chance, still that small inkling still so stubbornly
hanging on…but no, he had to know.

The soup was amazing. Practically tasteless, barely warm, and suspending something mushy
that couldn't quite pass for vegetables and couldn't quite pass for meat, it was the most
delicious and satisfying meal he'd had in days. He forced himself to slow down somewhere
around halfway through the can, disappointed to realize he was already feeling a bit full. But
he forced himself to finish, knowing that, with or without the TARDIS's help, he would need
all the energy he could get to make it through another healing coma. The last one – as short-
lived and necessary as it was – had left him disastrously weak. Eight should not have been
able to get the upper hand on him that easily. With his faculties dulled from recovery he
hadn't even been able to sense 'Rocky' coming up behind him. It was a horrible mistake; one
that had nearly cost him his life and one he wasn't about to make again.

The broth had cooled considerably as the Doctor forced himself to continue when –

"Oh…"

It was like being enveloped by a blanket fresh from the laundry - warm, familiar, and friendly
on a freezing winter's night. He heard the excitable hum fill his mind and soul as the cloister
bell churned in the hallways outside. The Doctor couldn't stop the relieved smile that spread
across his face as he leaned back and closed his eyes contently. "There you are, old girl. You
miss me?"

Her answer came with another toll of the cloisters. He could feel her relief, anger, concern,
frustration, love diffusing through the air around him, swirling like a whirlwind. It was all
achingly familiar. It was his TARDIS. His third heart. His home.

He was home. For the first time in so, so long, he was home, meeting blind acceptance
instead of the sharp edge of a whip, being held and sung to instead of yelled at and ordered
about. After a moment of disbelief – after being so sure she had disowned him for his crimes
and weakness – the Doctor clung to her unconditional warmth, feeling his hearts melt and his
soul weep for the closeness of such genuine love. He didn't feel he deserved it, but Rassilon's
staff was he going to cherish it while he could.

The TARDIS gave another whine, more urgent than the gentle hums from earlier. "We'll find
her." The Doctor promised, feeling even more positive and resolute about it than he had mere
minutes ago. He knew how much the TARDIS begrudgingly loved Rose as well. She was just
as worried for the little pink and yellow human as he was. "I know where she is, we just need
to get to her. What do you say, ol' girl? Up for another adventure? A good old fashion rescue
mission, just like before?"

A whirl of the TARDIS's engines told him she was ready, but even as he said it the Doctor
felt his edges fading into exhausting. The rollercoaster he had just been forced, however
wonderfully, to endure was too much for his wearied body. Sensing the shift in focus, the
TARDIS hummed comfortingly, padding his mind with an age-old tune that only she and the
Doctor knew anymore.
Frowning through his fatigue, the Doctor groaned, "Oh, not you, too." The song became more
persistent as did the warmth that seemed to penetrate his very being. "Oh, fine." The Doctor
finally gave in. "I guess I'm out numbered then." Barely remembering to put down the can of
half-drank soup, the Doctor turned gingerly onto his side and forced himself to relax.

It was a short and easy battle. With a full stomach, safe surroundings, and the TARDIS
singing him to sleep, the Doctor was out before his head even hit the pillow.

"Get up."

The Doctor heard the words just moments before something hit him in the face. Whatever hit
him wasn't necessarily hard, and it didn't necessarily hurt, but it was enough to startle him
from his sleep. He lashed out before his eyes even opened, imagining monsters and
competitors looming over him, and only succeeded in chaffing his wrist against his bindings
even more. With a hiss, the Doctor peeled open his eyes to find Ren frantically fiddling with
the handcuffs.

The Doctor flopped back against the bed, thoroughly annoyed. "First you tell me to rest and
sleep and now you're hitting me and telling me to get up." He grumbled. He'd only been
asleep for thirty-nine horribly short minutes, but at least it hadn't all been in vain. Instead of
being exhausted and in agony he was now only tired and in pain. Not much of an
improvement and if Captain Cranky-Pants over here hadn't woken him so soon he might have
actually been able to heal more than just the surface cuts and bruises.

There was a soft click and the manacle slipped off his hand. Automatically, the Doctor raised
his wrist and began massaging the feeling back into his fingers, which had gone numb
sometime while he was unconscious.

"Your harebrained scheme didn't work." Captain Cranky-Pants grumbled back. "There's
already someone on our tail."

The Doctor frowned. "That can't be right. Jancon lived on the capital planet, surely traffics
going to increase the closer we get. Are you certain it's not just some…I don't know, cargo
ship or merchant shuttle?"

"You think I wouldn't think about that?" Ren snapped. "I veered off course a while back just
to check and they followed us."

"Okay, yes, that doesn't sound good." The Doctor reluctantly agreed. So much for optimism.
He stupidly tried to use his left arm – which for some reason was significantly more torn up
than his right…perhaps the cuff somehow inhibited his healing while he slept – to push
himself up into a sitting position. He didn't let the pain show in his face though. Instead he
gently examined his arm, face going white as he realized he was wearing more blood than
actual skin. Everything from elbow to wrist had been shredded. Even the skin that had healed
over the antivirus transmitter had been torn away, leaving a bizarre hollow dent where either
the chip or his skin should have been. Gross.
"Well! No point waiting around then, is there?" The Doctor bounded to his feet and was
pleased to discover he didn't feel the crushing need to fall to the ground. His legs held up,
albeit a bit hesitantly. "I'm as good as I'm about to get, so might as well start Operation:
Rescue Rose Again right now." With a lurch, the Doctor stumbled the short distance across
the room, fingers latching onto the doorframe. The air around the TARDIS practically pulsed
with her support, egging the Doctor on. He was so close now. What had it been? Three
months? Four?

The Time Lord stretched his hand out reverently until his fingers brushed the warm wood of
his ship's hull. The TARDIS hummed her greeting, the vibrations running up the Doctor's
hand and into his very soul. With one final step, he was once again standing at her door.

Running his fingers over the frame, feeling each grain of the perfectly mimicked artificial
wood beneath his touch, the Doctor gave a small, awkward wince. "All right, old girl," He
whispered into the door. "You're going to have to work with me. I might have accidentally
lost the key some time ago… Could you do me a solid and open up?" He let the unfamiliar
phrase Rose often said roll off his tongue, trying to trigger a memory of the little human so
the TARDIS would remember what kind of hurry they were in. It seemed the Doctor didn't
need to persuade her, though. The door was creaking open before the Doctor even finished
the request. Warm light, so soft compared to the harsh red emergency lights that decorated
Ren's shuttle, spilled forth and pooled around the Doctor. It smelled like home.

The Doctor had almost forgotten Ren was there until the human pointedly cleared his throat.
Snapping out of his reverie, the Doctor turned to see the captain suddenly appearing very
uncomfortable. The Doctor slowly lowered his hand to his side, feeling a blush creep over his
cheeks. Exactly how much stroking had just been involved? "Uh…right, sorry, it's…been a
while…" He tried to apologize awkwardly.

"Oh, no, no, it's not that." Ren quickly jumped to defend (meaning it quite clearly was at least
a bit of that.)

"Good, come on then. Oh, and before we get started: Yes, it's bigger on the inside. And no, I
don't have time to explain it. Just nod along and stay quiet. Allons-y."

"Wait," The Doctor's foot was already across the threshold when Ren blurted out, "There's
something I haven't told you." He glanced back to find that Ren hadn't moved, but his eyes
kept darting towards what the Doctor had earlier assumed was a closet door. The familiar
weight of dread settled in his chest and he couldn't tell why. Cautiously, the Doctor took a
step away from the TARDIS, slowly closing the door with him as a precaution.

"Ren, what have you done?"

The human stared at him imploringly. "I needed him. I'm not going to apologize for that.
But…I don't know what to do now. If we're abandoning ship we can't just leave him here."

The Doctor felt ice in his veins. "Leave who?"

Instead of answering, Ren glanced at the closet again. The Doctor had never seen the human
look so nervous and uncertain before, which did nothing to help ease the feeling in his gut.
Something told him he didn't want to look in that closet. That he wouldn't like what he saw
or, even worse, wouldn't like what he'd have to do about it. If it made stalwart captain of a
Drephesh outpost this hesitant, it couldn't be good.

Nevertheless, he knew he had to look. Regrettably moving away from the TARDIS and the
lure of her familiar console beneath his fingers, the Doctor swept towards the door, trying
desperately to feel steadier than he was. Ren moved behind him and the Doctor forced back
the panic it caused. Now was not the time.

To his surprise, the door wasn't locked. He wrapped his fingers around the cold metal of the
handle and slowly wrenched the door open.

Inside, as he had suspected, was a closet. The shelves directly beside the door were empty
except for a few spare bolts and rags that had to find their place somewhere on board.
Railings wrapped around three edges of the small space, heavily secured to the walls.
However, instead of clothes hanging from the metal poles, there was a man.

The ice that had settled inside the Doctor's veins burned savagely, combusting at the sight of
the man – if you could even call this thing that – before freezing and then burning and then
freezing again. His insides were in an uproar, his head reeling as thought after thought,
emotion after emotion, tried desperately to cling to his mind before slipping away in the
torrent that drowned his brain. But his face, perfectly schooled into a cold, terrifying mask,
showed none of this.

Rat-Face, however, could not keep the surprise out of his features. Bound and gagged as the
Drephesh was, the Doctor could only see his orange eyes grow large as his eyebrows shot up
over his balding, pasty forehead. The man began to struggle, attempting to stand, but the way
his wrists were clamped to the railing there was no moving from his slumped position.

"They froze my records before I left the outpost." Ren was saying quietly behind him. "I
needed someone with security clearance just to get the shuttle off the ground, let alone get
into Eyal and track you down."

The Doctor only heard every other word. His eyes flicked over to Rat-Face's hands, noting
the raw tips of his fingers where Ren must have stolen his fingerprints to gain access into the
system's mainframe.

"And once you were in you didn't kill him, because?"

In the silence that followed the Doctor's deadly quiet question, panic flared even brighter
behind the Rat's eyes. Ren was only quiet for a second longer than was natural.

"I didn't want to take that decision away from you."

The Doctor nodded contemplatively. Rat-Face frantically glanced between the two of them,
wet tears making his eyes look blurrier and even larger than before. Without taking his eyes
off the restrained man, the Doctor instructed, "Turn all the systems off. It'll be harder for
them to track us with everything shut down. Just let the ship float away through space."
"Turning all the systems off also shuts down life support. We'll run out of oxygen." Ren
supplied.

"No problem." The Doctor replied stonily. "We're leaving soon anyway. Now go."

Casting one last indecipherably look over at the man he had once called his soldier, Ren
turned and marched out the door, passed the TARDIS, to the control room, leaving the Doctor
and Rat-Face alone for the first time in…well, the first time ever, it seemed. Rat-Face
appeared to be as excited about that as the Doctor was.

Moving into the tiny closet, the Doctor bent down and ripped the gag from Rat-Face's lips.
The Drephesh cringed and immediately began to sob, blubbering uncontrollably, words that
sounded horribly similar to "Please, no, please, don't hurt me."

The Doctor threw the gag away, eliciting another flinch and shriek from the man. "That
sounds awfully familiar, doesn't it?" The Doctor hissed. He was fairly certain he looked far
angrier than he felt – and he felt pretty angry, although a strangely cool barrier seemed to
have sectioned off that part of his brain screaming for Rat-Face's head of a pike. "Isn't that
what she said to you? Before?"

Rat-Face seemed to shrink even further into himself, terrified eyes never leaving the Doctor.
"W-wh-who?"

Before he knew what he was doing, the Doctor's hand was around Rat-Face's throat. The
barrier that had kept his anger at bay had shattered, leaving his mind filled with icy red hatred
his fingers longed to put action towards. He lifted Rat-Face off the floor, whose scream of
surprise was broken as the Doctor squeezed his fingers tighter around the delicate skin of his
neck. " Rose! " The Doctor growled with more anger than he thought was possible to voice,
face practically pressed up against Rat-Face's nose with an enraged sneer. "Rose! The
defenseless woman you pinned down and raped in her cell. The woman you violated and now
don't even remember. ROSE!"

Tears were now flowing freely down the Drephesh's cheeks as he struggled desperately for
release. "Th-the slave!" He gasped around the Doctor's fingers. "The human girl. The one
with the blonde hair. I remember her. I do, I swear, please. Please. I'm sorry."

The Doctor loosened his grip and let Rat-Face fall back to the ground, suddenly disgusted by
the mere thought of touching him. He didn't expect anything to be worse than the realization
that Rose's torturer didn't even remember her, but in fact remembering her seemed so, so
much worse now. "You're sorry." The Time Lord sneered in response. " You're sorry. "

"I lost control." Rat-Face sobbed as his entire body trembled. "I lost control, I didn't mean to
–"

"Didn't mean to!" Horror-struck and unable to do anything but repeat the abhorrent things
spewing from his mouth, the Doctor glared down at the cowering man. "What? Did you
accidentally force her to strip in front of you? Unintentionally pin her down so hard she had
bruises for days? Unwittingly rape her until she was terrified of me even breathing too close
to her? That's not losing control. If you want to see what losing control really looks like, keep
saying stupid things to me. I am very, very close to the edge."

"Please! Please, I'm so sorry, I'm so, so sorry! But please, don't leave me here. Don't leave me
with him. He's insane. A primal human. You're better, I know you are. You're good. Please,
please, take me with you.

It took the Doctor a moment to realize the "he" was referring to Ren. The Time Lord frowned
in disgust. "Why in Skaro would I ever take you anywhere with me?"

"Please," That seemed to be the only word Rat-Face was capable of saying. It was becoming
more irritating than the Doctor ever thought a plea for help ever could. It burned inside him
that the saying he prided himself on always responding to, on always jumping to the aid of,
could make him feel so sick with loathing. "I'll so anything, please, anything you want. Just
get me out of here and I'll do anything."

The man broke down into incoherent sobs, unable to articulate anything anymore. The
Doctor started down his nose at the pathetic sight. He had done a lot of begging in the recent
past. A lot of pleading and a lot of bargaining. He hated it then and he hated it now. "Shut
up." He sneered more savagely than he intended.

Rather than quieting the man, Rat-Face's cries seemed to become even louder, more
desperate. The Doctor just rolled his eyes. "What makes you think there is anything I want
from you?" He jabbed quietly. "I don't even want your apologies. Those aren't for me to take.
But I will never let you even stand on the same planet as Rose long enough to beg her for the
forgiveness you don't deserve. You have nothing to bargain with that I would ever consider
accepting."

He stood up from his crouched position and slowly backed towards the door. Rat-Face didn't
even seem to notice, but his sobbing did quiet down a bit. It must have been exhausting,
being such a cowardly, disgusting little thing. "Please don't leave me." He pleaded one more
time. "You're good. You were always good. Please."

The Doctor let the word hang ominously between them before responding in a horribly quiet
voice. "You know, all those sleepless nights I spent in Eyal, kept awake by the bruises and the
hunger pains and the fear, I thought of you. I thought of all the intricate ways I could kill you,
of all the horrific things I would do to you before the end. I found solace in it, in fact. And
then I thought of all the ways I could change you, all the ways I could show you the right
path, because once I believed that everyone could inherently be good. Once I thought I was a
good guy myself. But now I know better. And I'm not going to do any of that now. In fact, I'm
not going to do anything at all."

"Wh-what do you mean?"

The Doctor didn't respond. He turned away, getting ready to shut the door for good, when the
reedy little voice spoke out again. "I heard you talking to the captain. He said you're shutting
down the ship. Abandoning it. You can't just leave me here!"
After a pause, the Doctor glanced dispassionately over his shoulder, cold mask finally back in
place. "Oh, don't worry." He replied casually. "Rats have the dreadful habit of finding their
way off sinking ships. And if they don't, well…" He shut the door and twisted the lock in
place, cutting off Rat-Face's screams. "Everyone's better off for it."

He stumbled blindly through the darkness towards the ethereal glow of his TARDIS. Ren had
successfully shut off all the systems, leaving the shuttle pitch black and eerily silent. The
Doctor could only just see the outline of the human explorer set against the TARDIS
windows, waiting for him.

"Time to go." The Doctor said coolly, striding past the human and pushing at the TARDIS
doors. They responded readily to his touch.

"What about him?" Ren asked hesitantly, jerking his head towards the closet door.

Without glancing over, the Doctor merely responded, "Who?" before sweeping up the metal
grated ramp that led into his control room, expecting Ren to follow as he mindlessly punched
in their coordinates. To his relief, Ren didn't say a word as he closed the door behind him and
the TARDIS shook and groaned her way into flight once again.
 Chapter 57

Ren made his way slowly around the circular control panel, gazing in unconstrained awe at
the columns that rose up into the impossibly high ceiling of the machine's central room.
When the Doctor had said it was bigger on the inside, Ren had assumed it was a turn of
phrase. Like how his grandmother used to always tell him that a library is bigger on the
inside in order to make room for all the characters and adventures in its care. Never, in all his
time in space, living with aliens and their technology, had the human imagined it was actually
possible. But here he was, feeling tiny and lost standing alone in a box that for all intents and
purposes should have been cramped for just one man, let alone two.

His companion, however, was nowhere to be seen. As soon as the door had swung shut
behind Ren's back the Doctor had pounded a few buttons, swirled a few pistons, and flung a
few leavers before vanishing into the bowels of the ship. The machine lurched into motion,
engines grinding together and groaning cheerfully – cheerfully? How was it cheerful? How
can a machine sound happy ? – as it shuddered into flight.

The moment Ren was able to stand on his own two feet again he took off after the Doctor's
retreating back. But as he approached the archway the lighthearted grind of the engines
suddenly turned dark and threatening and Ren felt a strangely pressing need to retreat back
into the control room. Knowing better than to challenge his gut in a potentially hostile
environment, Ren obediently retreated. An approving thrum met him as he moved away from
the corridor that lead further into the ship towards the Doctor.

Ren raised his arms in surrender. "Okay. No following him. No problem." I'm talking to a
machine. I've finally lost it. But amazingly, the machine responded, humming slightly as if in
agreement. And that was enough to satisfy Ren, who definitely did not want to upset
whatever sentient creature he was currently seeking shelter in. He plopped down onto the
yellow, slightly worn-out captain's seat and waited.

And waited.

And waited.

He had thought the Doctor would want to get to Rose as soon as possible. Ren had had to
actually handcuff the Doctor down to keep him from getting to her earlier. When the Doctor
said his ship was able to disappear in one place and reappear in another, he had assumed that
meant instantly. But now it had been at least ten minutes since the Doctor disappeared and
the ship still seemed to be in flight. The human wasn't exactly overwhelmingly impressed.

Bored and jittery from his plummeting adrenaline, Ren stood and started pacing around the
circular room. His footsteps echoed off the metal grating beneath his boots. Curiously, he
reached a hand out towards one of the shiny buttons on the console and – zap!

"Oww!" Ren jerked his hand back, mentally and physically shocked. The TARDIS groaned
warningly. "Okay. No touching either. Got it."
And so he waited again, inspecting the strange coral-like pillars and the round things on the
walls without touching, respecting the machine wishes, until the Doctor finally reappeared
another fifteen minute later. He was toweling off wet hair, newly dressed in a dark blue suit
that had clearly once been tailored to his frame but now hung off his slight shoulders
awkwardly. But there was no denying he looked like a new man. There were still barely
healed cuts across the bridge of his nose and over his cheeks and eyebrows, but the rest of the
damage was more or less hidden by the long slacks and the jacket's sleeves. Which was no
doubt purposeful.

"Alright, sorry about that!" The Doctor chirped with a forced grin. He threw his towel over
one of the support structures as he limped up the steps. "I hope the ol' girl wasn't too hostile.
She can be a little protective sometimes."

"Yeah, no kidding." Ren mumbled. "It shocked me when I tried to touch the control panel."

"Being shocked isn't any fun, is it?" The Doctor quipped back without an ounce of sympathy.

"Are you going to keep playing the guilt-trip card, Doctor?"

"Yep." The Doctor popped the end of the word as he swung a mobile screen around towards
him. Circular symbols swirled across the screen. This alien sure had a thing for circles. "But
don't worry, you won't have to listen to it for long. We're just going to pop over and collect
Rose and then we're back to Earth. I've already got the coordinates for Savannah set."

Ren froze in his pacing. "Wait, how –"

"Because I'm clever." The Doctor offered him a cheeky grin before becoming somber once
again. "And the TARDIS performed a biometric scan when she shocked you and pulled up
your records. Why'd you shorten your name, by the way? I rather like –"

"It wasn't fitting on Drephesh." Ren quickly interrupted.

Taking the cue, the Doctor simply nodded. "Very true, I suppose. Now, do you need anything
before we go?"

"I'd hate to waste more time than you already have." Ren grumbled, suddenly feeling very
impatient. The Doctor was acting so flippant towards their mission, taking the time to shower
and change while Rose was still stuck in enemy territory. Who knew what she had been
forced to go through over the last hour or so. She should be safe back on the TAR…thingy
with them by now.

Seemingly unconcerned, the Doctor just shrugged. "While I am the leading specialist in
wasting time, I'm also fairly good at getting it back as well."

Ren rolled his eyes. "Do you have to be so cryptic all the time?"

The Doctor thought for a moment before answering "Yes, yes I do. It makes life so much
more interesting. But don't worry about what I've apparently 'wasted'. We'll just pop back in
Time like nothing happened. Easy peasy."
As if to accentuate this, the Doctor dramatically flipped another switch and suddenly the
TARDIS was groaning and quivering into flight once again. Ren didn't even seem to have
noticed the first time they'd apparently stopped, but now he was thrown to the floor as the
ship violently rocked around him. The Doctor managed to stay on his feet, but only through
sheer force of will. He had one arm wrapped around the handle of the computer screen while
his other hand braced against the console, doing what his knees didn't seem capable of and
holding himself up.

"What do you mean, back in time?" Ren shouted over the roar. "Are you saying this is a…"

"Time machine." The Doctor shouted back. "Yep! Pretty handy, isn't it?"

'Handy' didn't quite cover it, although 'noisy' might. Ren didn't bother trying to stand as the
ship continued to spin violently and instead chose to continue shouting over to the Doctor.
"So we're going back to …when?"

"Just a few hours ago. A couple minutes after you found me should be enough time."

The ship vaulted to the right and Ren only just had enough foresight to grab hold of the
central column before they careened back to the left. The Doctor snarled, face twisted in a
mixture of pain and annoyance. "Sorry about all this, by the way." He yelled casually as he
narrowly avoided smashing his nose into the computer screen. "She's a bit rusty and I'm a
little out of practice."

"Why - ?" A deafening clang followed by an equally deafening silence cut across Ren's voice
before he could finish and the Doctor, adrenaline pulsing too loudly in his ears to handle such
a pause in conversation, jumped on in.

"It's not as easy as it looks! I'm trying to aim for a very specific place, but, well, it's kind of
like skydiving off of the International Space Station and trying to slip through the eye of a
needle to land on an anthill in the Sahara Desert. Tiny TARDIS. Big universe. Bigger
timeline." He brushed the wrinkles from his suit sleeves and instinctively moved to straighten
his tie before remembering he'd chosen to forgo one. Too much like a collar (even though
he'd never actually worn one, but the symbolism was still a bit too strong for his liking).

"No, I mean why only a few hours?" Ren clarified as he struggled to his feet. "You have a
time machine!" His head was pounding, but he couldn't tell if that was from terror or
excitement. "Why don't you just go back and stop yourselves from being captured in the first
place? Wouldn't that be easier than the whole eye-of-a-needle trick?"

The Doctor barely suppressed a scoff as he shook his head. "Not how it works, and I don't
have time to explain, so please keep your stupid suggestions to yourself. Thank you." He took
three steps towards the TARDIS door before freezing. Something akin to shame suddenly
crawled up from his gut and lodged itself somewhere in his throat. He turned to Ren with a
slight, apologetic smile. "Wow, that was rude." He winced. "Look at me, I'm regressing. Soon
I'll be calling you a 'stupid ape'." Closing his eyes, the Doctor stumbled back towards the
captains seat and plopped down, letting his head fall into his hands.
Ren stood statue-like on the other side of the console, watching the Time Lord. He was,
admittedly, a bit afraid to move. In the last few months alone he had been shot at, stabbed,
accused (albeit correctly) of murder, been the subject of mutiny, hunted, and cornered without
allies in a vicious alien civilization. But for some reason the unpredictable pitches and swings
of this particular alien's mood set him more on edge than anything else. He was almost ready
to apologize himself and admit defeat, submitting to this creature that was clearly more
powerful but was also his only hope of redemption, when he noticed the Doctor's shoulders
beginning to shake.

Ren stepped cautiously around the control panel and crouched in front of the Doctor. "It's…
it's going to be okay." He tried to comfort, but the words felt unfamiliar and insincere on his
lips. "We'll get Rose back, I promise. She'll be fine."

"What if she's not?" The Doctor's whispered words were barely audible beneath his fingers.
"I was supposed to win or die. I wasn't supposed to be rescued. I wasn't supposed to escape.
That wasn't part of our deal. Who knows what he'll do to her. Rassilon, I'm terrified." He
admitted with a shudder.

"Would you rather I'd left you there?" Ren regretted asking as soon as the words left his
mouth. Tactless, spiteful. Of course the Doctor didn't want to be left for dead. Just because he
wasn't saying it didn't mean he wasn't grateful for being rescued from that terrifying vampire
bitch. Ren shouldn't be selfishly fishing for gratitude.

But for some reason, the question seemed to halt the Doctor. His hands slipped from covering
his face but his large, darkened eyes remained fixed on the ground. "Maybe." He whispered
in anguish. "Maybe you should have."

Hearing the admission was like being struck by a train. Rattled, Ren could only blurt out the
obvious. "You would have died."

"Maybe that would have been for the best." The Doctor countered. "I'm not the same person I
was coming into this. I just…oh, Rassilon, I killed him." Unbidden tears sprung to his eyes
but refused to fall. "I could have saved him – should have saved him. But I just left him."

"No. No, Doctor, don't do that. He deserved it, that's on him. I don't think any less of you and
Rose won't either. You did nothing wrong."

"You don't know that."

"Do you regret leaving him behind?" The Doctor didn't answer for several seconds. "If given
the option, would you go back for him?"

The Doctor's face hardened fractionally. "No." He said with slightly broken conviction. "No,
I wouldn't. I regret –" He took a shaky breath as if bracing himself for what he was about to
say. "I regret that I don't regret it. I regret that I wish I had done more. I wanted to hurt him. I
wanted….I wanted to kill him. And I don't feel like that was wrong. That's what I regret."

"What you did was right."

"So murder is justified? You're trying to tell me that it's okay to not feel sorry because justice
was served?" The Doctor challenged, finally looking up and Ren realized it was the first time
the alien made eye contact with him since leaving the shuttle. He wished it had never
happened. He could see the shattered elements of the Doctor through his eyes alone, as if the
browns of his irises were fractured by pitch black fissures. Like a coward, Ren found himself
looking away, unable to hold the broken gaze.

"There is not justice." Ren grumbled after a moment. "Only survival."

Silence met his words.

"I can't believe that." The Doctor finally sighed. "I won't. If I do then I'm no better than that
creature created in the arena. I'm no longer the Doctor."

"Then be both. Or be neither. But we both know you won't just be a heartless monster and
you can't live as a guilt-ridden Doctor. The choice isn't one or the other – It's all or neither.
Your call."

The smallest, shakiest of a smile formed on the Doctor's lips. It was a strange sight to behold,
but suddenly Ren couldn't seem to look away anymore. "Has anyone ever told you you're
actually a bit wise?"

"No, I was too busy being a heartless, guilt-ridden slave trader. I guess you could say I'm
speaking from experience."

The Doctor chuckled. "You weren't all bad, I suppose."

"Don't go soft on me now. You good?"

The Doctor took a moment then nodded slowly. He ran a hand back over his face before
carding it through his hair, which had dried into the spikey, ruffled chaos Ren remembered
from when they'd first captured him. It was also lighter now that it wasn't caked with dirt and
blood. If you ignored his eyes, the impish shape of it made him look so much younger than
was possible.

"All right, let's do this." The Doctor pushed himself out of the chair and straightened his coat.
Whatever weakness and fear that had tainted his voice moments ago was now gone – though
Ren was not convinced it was permanent. "Now, considering no one's come knocking yet I'm
going to guess we landed in the right place. But, better safe than sorry." He stumbled once
again over to the computer screen and spun it around, flicking a switch on the side. The
swirling circles subsided as the screen was taken over by scenes of a violet, empty room. The
Doctor smirked to himself. "Like riding a bike. Ready?"

"Are you?"

The smirk barely diminished. "Nope. Allons-y!

 Chapter 58

The TARDIS door creaked open and the Doctor slowly poked his head around the frame.
Rose's room was just as he remembered it: violently violet, chic, and empty of any guards or
cameras. Just how the Doctor liked it. Without hesitating any longer, the Doctor stepped
away from the TARDIS, stumbling only a little as he made his way over to the window
overlooking the expansive grounds. It was as if nothing had changed. He could just make out
a familiar guard with green hair pacing across the lawns in his practiced pattern while a maid
made her way back to the estate from the servant's quarters carrying a basket of clothing and
a candle. The Doctor guessed it must be near three in the morning if the schedules hadn't
undergone any changes since he left. His temporal instincts told him he was right.

Ren stepped out of the TARDIS a little more cautiously than the Doctor had, a stun blaster he
pulled from Rassilon knows where in hand. The Doctor rolled his eyes as Ren, ever the
soldier, began to clear the room, sweeping from the bed space to the bathroom as if someone
might be lurking inside, waiting for their arrival. Deciding there was no point in calling Ren
off the hunt, the Doctor turned back to the window, watching as the green hair guard nodded
to a dark skinned guard as he passed. The Doctor recognized him from that day in the
servant's yard. He had been kind to Rose – or as kind as a guard could be after being ordered
to shackle her to a post and watch her be whipped. It would have been easy for him to be
cruel, but he'd chosen not to. The Doctor never forgot that.

" This is where you were being kept?" Ren's surprised voice broke through his thoughts. "Not
exactly what I'd expect from a slave's room."

"It's Rose's room." The Doctor corrected softly. The guards had passed from view now. There
was no one on the grounds below as far as the Doctor could tell.

"So where is she?"

The Doctor sighed and pushed away from the window. "I'm not sure." Unease settled in the
Doctor's chest. For the first time the Doctor prayed Jancon hadn't followed through on his
promise. It had only been an hour or two since the Doctor had disappeared from the Trials,
but what if that had been enough? Or what if he had decided not to wait to see if the Doctor
miraculously survived the Trials and acted early. He always did painfully think he was doing
the right thing whenever he hurt them. If he had already secured a charter for Rose on a
shuttle back towards the Milky Way Galaxy it would be that much harder to find her. Space
was a big, big place, even with a TARDIS.

Before he could do anything, the Doctor needed proof Rose was still there. Storming the
Estate was suicidal enough as it was. If it all turned out to be for nothing…the Doctor wasn't
going to pull Ren into that kind of danger for no reason.

"The room's clear." Ren announced as he closed the closet doors.

"Thanks, Captain Cautious. I already said it was."

"Computers don't always catch everything." Ren growled back defensively. "So what's your
plan?"

"Uhhh…." The Doctor moved over to Rose's bedside table, riffling through the various small
objects on its surface. The necklace he'd left her was gone now. The Doctor couldn't tell if
that was a good thing or a bad thing. Good that she took it and was hopefully wearing it,
remembering, recovering if possible. Bad if that meant she had packed up and left. "Right.
My plan…" Next he went to the closet. It was still full of the beautiful, intricate gowns Rose
claimed to hate even as she couldn't stop admiring herself in every reflective surface she
passed. The Doctor remembered catching her once peering into the newly scrubbed surface
of the lab tables when she thought he wasn't looking. He couldn't blame her though – she had
looked gorgeous. He wasn't able to keep from admiring her either.

But he doubted she would have taken any of the gowns with her if she'd left. Too many bad
memories.

Ren cleared his throat pointedly.

"Yes! Plan! My plan is…" He stumbled back to the small desk by the window, catching
himself on the edge as his leg twinged from the sudden change of direction. "To…" He
opened one of the drawers. A few pencils rattled around along with several hair pins and a
brush. Would she have left these behind? The Doctor was learning nothing from his search.
Neither of them had had any possessions when they'd arrived. There was nothing to gauge
whether Rose was here or not.

"Doctor, you don't have a plan, do you?"

The Doctor scoffed. "Of course I do." He lied evenly. "My plan is to do something clever.
What exactly that clever thing is I'm still working on, but at least it's a start."

"No, no it's not, actually." Ren huffed. "Alright, do you have any weapons stored on your
ship?" The Doctor turned slowly to fix the human with flat, quizzical stare. "Don't give me
that look. If you won't come up with a plan I will. If Rose was being kept in a room like this I
doubt she's being watched too carefully. We're just going to go find her and hope we don't
cross anyone. But if we do, we need to be prepared. So go get your weapons."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "And you were giving my plan grief. That's even less of a
plan. Go in, guns blazing, just hoping we'll stumble upon her?"

"It's better than no plan as all!"

"No plan is better than a stupid one destined to fail!"

"Because you're plans have been working out brilliantly lately, haven't they? Remind me, was
it part of your strategy to get caught before reaching the outpost gate? Or to be nearly grated
to death in the Trials?"

The Doctor launched himself across the room, hand raised as if to strike the human. Ren
reacted instinctively and tried to duck, but he was too slow. Instead of a blow to the face,
however, the Doctor's hand clamped down over his mouth, successfully silencing the human.

" Shhh ." Ren struggled for a second before he heard it, too. Footsteps, just outside the room.
Heavy and booted. Not something a diplomat would wear, and most definitely not Rose's
light steps. " This is why your plan won't work." The Doctor hissed without removing his
hand. "The entire place is guarded around the clock. You say we'll just take out anyone we
cross? How many do you think you can take on at once with that stun blaster? Three? Four?
Last I counted there were over thirty guards roaming this place, not to mention the servants
and other staff –"

Ren wrenched his head out of the Doctor's hold. "At this time?" He spat back.

" Especially at this time. When the masters are asleep they're the most vulnerable. And
Jancon is anything but reckless. You could probably take a leaf from his book on that
subject."

"Fine." Ren whispered darkly. "We'll do it your way. Which is what, exactly? Wait until Rose
comes crawling back to her room? That could be hours. It's the middle of the night, why
wouldn't she be in bed unless she's being kept from it? You yourself said you have no idea
what they could be doing to her. Do you really want to just wait?"

"No, of course not." He could tell Ren was slightly thrown off by his sudden switch back to a
light, friendly voice. "I told you I was going to do something clever, didn't I? I just have to
figure out what that clever thing is."

"Well, take your time." Ren grumbled.

The Doctor chose to ignore the jab this time, focusing fully on keeping his feet under him as
he shuffled back to the desk. The pencil drawer was still open and the Doctor moved to close
it before freezing. There were several papers shoved in the back of the drawer he hadn't been
able to see from his angle before. He pulled them out and carefully straightened their crinkled
folds. The handwriting was achingly familiar and the sketched quick and careful. He slowly
leafed through the pages, eyes darting from one scribble to the next as a grin slowly began to
grow on his face. "Oh, you clever girl." He whispered in awe to himself. "How did I dismiss
this before?"

"What? What is it?"

"Ren, change of plan." The Doctor announced animatedly as he spun around. "I'm not going
to do something clever, Rose already did. All I need to do now is cause a distraction."

"How?"

"Oh, I don't want to laden myself with too much preparation. Improvising, that's my
specialty!" He shoved the papers into his inside jacket pocket as he spoke, careful not to
crinkle them more than they already were. He planned on framing them later and hanging
them up somewhere in the TARDIS. These sacred, beautiful papers. Rose would never have
left without destroying them first. Now, safe in his pocket, was proof his companion was still
here and his way of getting her out amid thirty plus guards and two mental, erratic slave
owners.

"Now you, on the other hand, have a very special job to do." He instructed as he dug through
his trouser pockets and pulled out a small key. The Doctor eyed it carefully, stealing himself
before looking back up at the human. "I'm entrusting you with something very, very precious.
Please don't make me regret it." Slowly, he held out the key, resisting the urge to pull his
hand back as Ren reach for it.

"What's it go to?" Ren's voice had become very serious now, echoing the Doctor's tone.

"The TARDIS. I cooked it up on the way here, but I only had time to create one. I need you
to stay here and guard the TARDIS for me. No one else can be allowed to get inside. There's
also a chance Rose will make it back here before I do. If so, both of you need to get in the
TARDIS and activate Emergency Protocol One. Rose knows how, but she'll put up a fight, so
I need you to promise you'll do it for her. Just insert the key into the drive on the console and
twist counter-clockwise."

"What does Emergency Protocol One do?"

"It'll keep both you and Rose safe if I can't be there. That's all you need to know."

"Like hell it is. I'm not going to sit here while you gallivant off into what you yourself
described as a basic suicide mission. You need backup."

"No, I need you here. " The Doctor instructed with steel in his voice. "This is a very delicate
mission, I can't have a lumbering ape following me around, doubling our chances of being
seen. You will stay here and wait for me or Rose to come back. Am I understood?"

"Captain outranks Doctor." Ren growled, but didn't sound like he would actually put up a
fight.

"Not in this case. Stay here. Wait for me. Don't wander off – That's rule number one, I
probably should have mentioned that one before."

Ren rolled his eyes. "We're just wasting time. Fine, I'll stay. Don't get yourself killed."

"I try not to."

The Doctor had only made it a few step towards the door when Ren called out, "Doctor, if
you're about to do something stupid, you might want this." The Doctor turned around just in
time to see something thin and silver flying through the air towards him. His reflexes kicked
on as he snatched the object easily out of the air. His fingers wrapped around a familiar
handle, the comfortable, well-known weight of the thing like an extension of his hand.

"My sonic screwdriver! How did you…have you been holding onto it this whole time?!"

A smile finally cracked on Ren's young, exhausted face. "Thought it might come in handy
one of these days. Even though I never could figure it out myself."
"Thank you, Ren." The humility and sincerity in the Time Lord's voice was not lost on the
human, who just nodded towards the door.

"Go bring our Rose back."

Even though there was a thin black shroud draped over the tapestry, there was no mistaking
the image of Jancon's father beneath. So the man truly had died. The Doctor hadn't been sure
if he heard correctly, he had been too high on submission drugs and too busy being kicked in
the ribs to remember why his master had been late to dinner that night. But it seemed Ligtech
senior really had passed away, meaning Jancon was no longer the Prebassador. He had
inherited his father's seat on the council. Now he would be too busy to engage in such
frivolities as the Trials.

As he pushed the tapestry aside and found the hidden door on the other side, the Doctor
couldn't help but curse the old bastard for not kicking it sooner.

The door existed and, amazingly, so did the passage way behind it. The Doctor pulled the
pieces of paper out of his pocket and studied Rose's drawings by the light of his slightly
humming screwdriver. She had spent the first week or two of their time at the estate
painstakingly mapping out the entire grounds and the Doctor had dismissed it like it was
nothing. Now, it was everything.

He slipped through the door and quietly pressed it shut, but not before ensuring the tapestry
was lying flat and unassuming behind him. Not a moment later he heard footsteps on the
other side of the wood. Holding his breath, the Doctor waited until the guards passed, not
daring to make a sound, his heartbeats pounding traitorously loud in his ears.

It had taken him too long just to reach the tapestry. The Estate was simply crawling with
guards. Having never spent an actual night in the building before, the Doctor had no idea how
intensive Jancon's security was. The straight, unprotected stretch of hallway that led from
Rose's room to the tapestry had felt like the longest mine field in the universe.

The footsteps slowly faded away. Letting his heart rates slow, the Doctor pushed away from
the door. The dark hallway that greeted him was made of ancient stone and wood rafters. The
Doctor had never considered that the very modern looking estate might actually be very, very
old, but it made sense that it was built on family land. This corridor looked centuries older
than the rest of the house.

Holding his sonic aloft and letting its blue light fill the space in front of him, the Doctor
started his slow walk. The ground beneath was unstable in some places and completely
missing in others. Rose hadn't been lying when she said she thought they were abandoned.
Trying to keep one eye on his feet and one eye on the map, the Doctor found himself
wondering how Rose had ever found this place. He hated the idea of her wandering these
dark and twisting corridors by herself, especially then the floor didn't feel like being a floor
very often.

He turned right down one of the indicated paths and came across a tightly wound spiral
staircase. There was nowhere else to go and this was clearly the intended path. Placing the
sonic between his teeth and tucking the papers back into his pocket, the Doctor carefully tried
the first step, keeping both hands on the railings on either side. The rotting wood creaked
beneath his weight but miraculously held. Would it be better to hurry down the stairs as
quickly as possible, or slowly and cautiously work his way down one step at a time?

His decision was made for him as the next step gave out entirely under his foot. Caught off
balance and half blind in the dark, the Doctor pitched forward, narrowly avoiding smacking
head first into the stone wall in front of him. His other foot desperately found purchase on the
next step down but he wasn't about to risk it again. Barely daring to place more than a
second's worth of weight on each step, the Doctor barreled down the rest of the staircase,
wincing as at least two or three steps shrieked threateningly as he went.

So much for staying silent. The Doctor could only hope the stone walls were thick enough to
stop any sound from reaching the outside. He was so close now – or at least closer to the
more dangerous part of his mission. Sneaking around and being stealthy had never been this
incarnation's specialty. The sooner he got to the destructive, distracting part the better.

He crept along the new hallway turning left where he needed to and keeping close to the wall
where the floor became unreliable again. The outline of a door suddenly came into view as he
turned another corner. Slowing his steps, the Doctor inched closer until he could hear
clanging and voices on the other side.

" – still on the rampage. I haven't seen him this riled up since Madam's last dinner party."

"The poor boy. He did try to be good. It's not right, putting someone like him through that."

"Shhh, Chirla. Don't let Sir or Mrs. Sihn hear you say such things." Silence fell between the
two maids and the Doctor knew he couldn't risk moving again without the cover of their
voices. Glancing to his right, he found the door marked on Rose's map. At least that hallway
would be more structurally stable. The servants still used that passageway to get from the
servant's quarters to the kitchens during the high snow seasons. Despite it being mid-summer
on this planet the tunnel should still be in good working order.

Someone in the kitchen began talking and the Doctor got ready to move again before freezing
in his tracks as the words reached him. "And where's the girl now?"

"Rose? Still in the den." Chirla's voice responded. "Sir's not letting her leave until they figure
out what happened to the boy. I don't know if that's to reassure her or torture her, to be
honest…"

"Chirla, please, you must stop talking like that. Someone might overhear."

And thank Rassilon the Doctor had. Rose was still here, still – as far as he could tell – safe, if
not a little sleep deprived from not being allowed to go to bed yet. She could sleep on the
TARDIS once this was all over. But for now, the Doctor knew where she was. The den was
one the same side of the Estate as her bedroom on the ground floor. The only problem? She
was apparently still with Jancon, and no doubt Ilaria. He would have to separate them
somehow, as well as however many guards would be stationed with them. It was a good thing
he already had an idea.
As Chirla snapped back at whoever else was in the kitchen, the Doctor stole through the other
door, quickly silencing the sound of their argument. As expected, this hallway was in much
better array than the last. There were even small lights set into the stone at methodical
increments as far as he could see. His sonic, however, would easily suffice. He hurried along
the corridor, not as worried about making noise now that he was moving away from the
estate, until he reached a trap door at the very end. No one should be in the servant's quarters
at this hour. No one awake, at any rate. Even Mrs. Sihn would be asleep by now, getting
ready for another long day of managing the Estate.

He pulled the trap door open and narrowly dodged the ladder that unfurled with it.
Amazingly, the springs didn't squeak. He scurried up the rungs and found himself in a tiny
closet just barely big enough for him and the door. Knowing he would need to get back
quickly, he left the trap open and prayed no one would come across it. Why would they,
anyway?

The closet opened up into a familiar and blessedly empty hallway. Only ten paces away was
the door to the servant's yard. The quiet of the building pressed against him like a physical
barrier, but it was better than any noise reaching his ears as he slipped through the door and
into the warm summer night.

Now came the hardest part. Well, the second hardest part. Well, okay, one of the many hardest
parts. He thanked the dark navy of his suit as he pressed himself against the edge of the
servant's building, blending into the shadows. His sonic was tucked safely inside his jacket
pocket once again. He definitely wouldn't need its noise or light for this.

He crept around the corner of the servant's yard, ignoring the two posts standing ominously at
the center of the court, and instead focused on the towering silhouette of the Estate. It wasn't
too far away, but there was a large expanse of exposed lawn separating them. The Doctor
waited for his eyes to adjust further to the darkness as he watched. A few minutes later, a
guard came around the corner of the estate performing his usual sweep. From this distance
the Doctor couldn't tell if it was Green Hair or Dark Skin. Not that it mattered, however.
Being caught by either of them would be disastrous. Especially when he was so close.

The other guard came around from the opposite side. They paused when they got to each
other, exchanging words the Doctor couldn't hear, but from the casual way one of them held
his blaster they clearly weren't on alert yet. One of the beams from their flashlights swept
across the side of the building and illuminated the Doctor's target. No guard stood watch over
the doorway to the labs anymore. The Doctor was sure he was using up too much luck too
fast, but he wasn't about to argue. He would argue in hindsight if – if, not when – his luck did
eventually run out.

For now, it was his time to run. The guards went on their way after a short farewell. Unless
someone was watching from the Estate, the Doctor had two minutes of unsupervised time.
No problem.

As the last light vanished around the corner of the building, the Doctor bolted. His injuries
yelped in anger but he promptly ignored their distress. The lawn slopped upwards and was
slightly slippery, causing the Doctor to stumble too often for his liking. He forced his limbs to
keep working even as they burned and ached. He sprinted across the lawn and practically slid
into home as he finally reached the Estate wall. One minute.

The door was locked. Typical. But, thankfully, no longer a problem either. Casting a wary
glance in each direction, the Doctor pulled out the sonic screwdriver and set it to a simple
lock bypass level. Certainly Jancon wouldn't use anything stronger than that. And sure
enough, the door clicked open only after a moment and the Doctor surged into yet another
underground tunnel. This time, however, he didn't need to rely on the light of his sonic or any
other device to make his way down the sloping hallway. He was far too familiar with this
particular stretch of the Estate.

Before long the hallway evened out and the Doctor came face-to-face with the training room
once again. He used the sonic to turn the lights on in the end, eyes straining just to see a few
feet in front of him this far underground. The monstrosity that had killed Lysander towered
over him now like a giant, deadly Janga tower. Oh, he had plans for that exercise structure.

But that would have to wait. He made his way passed the training room and buzzed himself
through the extra security block before striding, for the first time confidently, into the
laboratory. He knew what he needed, he knew where it was, and he knew he was doing this
for the right reason this time. In one refrigerated drawer he pulled out three different
chemical vials and a clear tube holding several strands of thick, shiny mineral flakes. All
completely harmless…in anyone else's hands. No wonder Jancon and his idiotic science
buddies had overlooked the Doctor's request for these supplies. What harm could he do with
stable, non-reactive chemicals?

Well, he could make them unstable and reactive, for one thing. But more on that later.
Instead, the Doctor grabbed a canister of nedcinairy oil, several Bunsen burners, and a coil of
combustible filament. The Doctor worked like a mad man – or rather mad scientist, the
Doctor chuckled to himself as he poured a mixture of two chemicals into three different
flasks. He rather liked the sound of being considered a mad scientist. It had always been a life
ambition of his. Too bad Frankenstein stole all the credit the last time they collaborated. Trust
a psychotic chemist to think he was conferring with a voice inside his head rather than a
living, breathing alien right beside him.

Carefully, the Doctor dropped on tiny splash of the third chemical into each flask and quickly
sonicked the mixture. Vile red smoke erupted from the rim of each flask and suddenly the
mixture was frothing and sizzling viciously.

"Ugh!" The Doctor coughed as the putrid smoke reached his nose. If he didn't work fast the
entire Estate would wake up soon from the smell alone.

Moving as slowly and as carefully as he ever had, the Doctor stowed one of the flasks in a
crook near the dangerous chemicals cabinet. He quickly wrapped the combustible filament
around one of the mineral flakes and, using a pair of long range tongs, dropped the flake into
the mixture. It hissed and spat like an angry snake before very suddenly stilling, the contents
now a strangely glowing tan.

He unspooled the filament behind him as he grabbed the second flask and slowly crept back
into the training room. This time the flask was set just under one of the support beams for the
exercise structure. Satisfied once the mixture turned tan and began to emit an eerily light just
like the last, the Doctor ran back to the lab. He set the Bunsen burners on their sides four feet
away from each flask before grabbing the final mixture, the oil, the filament, and two last
burners and ever so cautiously made his way back out of the lab.

There was a much easier way to do this, of course. He didn't need to set everything up in the
lab, or in the training room. But there was just something so satisfying about it that the
Doctor couldn't help but smirk as he set up the last flask at the door of the underground. No
one would be hurt, he kept reminding himself. And so what if he was being a bit dramatic. It
was his right as a free man, and he wouldn't let these people take that joy away from him
anymore.

All three flasks and burners ready, the Doctor waited patiently at the door until the tell-tale
sound of the two guards finishing yet another sweep passed into the night. It had only been
fifteen minutes since he'd left Ren. It felt like an eternity. It felt like five minutes. Stealing
himself, the Doctor clutched the last burner and the canister of oil close to his chest and
slipped out the door. He had some art to do.

The fight that followed was horrible. An hour had passed and Rose had made no progress in
melting through the cushions of the overly plush seat Jancon had practically thrown her into.
Nor had she managed to vanish into thin air yet, or simply cease to be. Any of those options
would have worked for her. Anything but this.

Jancon stormed around the room, hand frantically scrubbing through his hair, making the
white strands stand chaotically on end. Horrifyingly, the action reminded Rose of how the
Doctor would pace and moan and scratch his head at a particularly troubling problem. Her
eyes positively burned from repressing the tears that wanted to fall at the thought of him, her
body shaking violently from a mixture of exhaustion, anger, and fear. Would she ever see the
Doctor pace like that again? Would she ever see the Doctor again, period? Or would she
always see Jancon's face instead, contorted with fury and accusation? Would it be the last
thing she ever saw?

"You know what happened!" Jancon screamed, not for the first time. "You know what he
did!"

"I don't!" Rose shouted back, voice quivering too much to sound sincere. Jancon swooped
down on her, slamming a hand into the headrest not an inch from Rose's left ear as his
terrifying face filled her vision. Rose flinched violently, waiting for the strike, a scream ready
on her lips. Too close. Too close, please.

"Jancon, dear, you're scaring the girl." Came the far too unconcerned voice of Ilaria, who was
sat by the fireplace with a book in hand, back turned to the holoscreen as if the carnage they
had just witnessed hadn't fazed her at all.

"Good." The master roared. He grabbed Rose's by the chin and forced her to look at him. Her
eyes swam but still the tears refused to fall. "Maybe I will manage to scare the truth out of
this little brat."
"It is the truth!" Rose tried to snap back. She had never seen Jancon so unraveled, never
heard him say anything even remotely negative towards her. His sudden transformation was
more terrifying than the shouting. She really had no idea who he was, who she had been
living with for months now.

"Do not lie to me, Thorn! I saw the way he was around you. Your mate would confide his
darkest secrets with you. Do not dare to presume I am so blind as to not see your
connection!"

"Why would he tell me his plan?!"

"Genius needs an audience. He told me so much himself when he first arrive. Why would he
not tell you, his most trusted?"

"Plausible deniability!" Rose shot back. "I swear, I don't know what he did, or how he did it. I
don't even know if he's aliv-"

Smack!

Jancon had never laid a harsh hand on her before, but the force of his slap was enough to
send her head spinning. Black dots danced along her vision, tears finally slipping away,
wrenched from place by the strength of the hit. The strangled shout she tried to hold in was
fractured by a pathetic sob, weak and pitiful even to her own ears.

"Jancon!"

"YOUR MATE CHEATED ME OUT OF MILLIONS OF UNITS!"

"Jancon, you must settle down, you are embarrassing yourself. The girl knows nothing."

"But you knew!" Rose shrieked back, fear and pain only fueling her anger now. "You knew
there was a chance he wouldn't survive! Why all of a sudden –"

"And had he not survived I had several contingencies in place to ensure his life was the only
thing I lost! And now that vile, traitorous, ungrateful creature refused to either win or die! He
has turned against the care I gave him, the care I gave you! Has he no concern for your
wellbeing, Rose? He must know his betrayal would endanger you here! Does he wish to see
you hurt?" His arm was raised, ready to strike again, but at the last moment he grabbed the
lamp beside Rose's chair and chucked it against the wall.

An ear-shattering BOOM went off as the lamp struck the surface. The entire building shook
as the object's remains clattered to the ground. Everything froze – Jancon, wide-eyed, staring
at the wall; Ilaria, startled into dropping her book; Rose, whose heart felt like it was about to
claw its way out through her watery eyes. No one dared move.

A fraction of a heartbeat later, another blast went off, louder than the first. Rose dove to the
ground as the room rattled and pitched as if caught in an earthquake. Glasses in the cabinets
fell and shattered around her, wood from the fireplace leapt out of the grate, sending sparks
skittering across the ornamental rug. And from the corner of her eye she saw a billow of
thick, blackened smoke rose up from beyond the windows.

"Jancon!"

"What was that?"

"An explosion!" One of the guards shouted as soon as the shaking stopped. "It came from
below!"

"Investigate!" Another guard yelled. "Loinks, Sumbiray, Ricurcemo – clear the house! My
lord, we must evacuate immediately! This could be a threat on your life."

Rose launched herself to her feet, ignoring the pinpricks of pain as her hand landed on a pile
of crushed glass, and sped to the window. After so long traveling with the Doctor, it seemed
the instinct to run towards danger rather than away had not yet left her. She coughed as dust
and smoke clouded her throat and stung at her eyes. She shoved the window open, desperate
for a gust of fresh night air as her lungs seized around the ash, and froze.

No. That can't…it isn't possible.

Without waiting another moment, Rose spun around and sprinted from the room, narrowly
dodging the guard that tried to snatch her up and force her down the hallway with the rest of
the servants evacuating the house. Jancon turned just in time to see the hems of her skirt
vanish around the corner, heading deeper into the house. "ROSE!"

"Sir, you must leave the premises immediately! "

"Jancon," Ilaria's quiet voice somehow drifted over the chaos of the Estate.

"Clear the house, get everyone out! The structure may be unstable. Sir, I will drag you out of
this building if I must."

" Jancon! Come see this."

Ilaria's hiss shattered Jancon's focus and he spun about to shout at his obnoxiously
troublesome wife, only to find she was no longer by her chair near the fire. She was by the
window Rose had just vacated, pointing accusingly through the glass down to the lawn
below. Jancon stumbled to her side.

"What does it mean?" She asked in a shocked whisper.

The lawn was ablaze with light, fire cackling across the grass in a large, iridescent,
inescapable pattern:

BAD WOLF
 Chapter 59

Inconveniently, the first charge went off as the Doctor hung precariously from the decaying
staircase. He clung desperately to the top railing as the force of the explosion nearly jolted his
grasp, jaw clenched against the strain of his arms having to support his entire body. Bits of
dust and stonework crumbled from the ceiling and pelted him along his head and shoulders.
His hair would be gray by the end of this whole debacle – whether from the dust or the stress
remained to be seen.

As the shaking stopped, the Doctor hoisted himself up the final step with a great sigh,
wincing as the broken edge of the wood scrapped against his injuries. He rolled to a safe
distance and lay there, panting, as the second charge activated. This part of the estate was
further away from the second explosion so it didn't quite feel like the walls were going to
cave in on him this time. But either way, Time was not on his side. He needed to keep
moving.

And wasn't that just the motto of his life lately. If it hadn't been for Tweedle Dee and Tweedle
Dum stopping to have another firearm chat outside the laboratory door just as the Doctor was
about to leave, he would have already been safe and sound in Rose's room by now. As it was,
he now stood the chance of getting stranded inside these crumbling halls should the walls
decide not to stand up against the quaking.

The scabs on the front of his chest had cracked open at some point. He could feel a sticky
warmth seeping through his pale blue shirt.

The Doctor surged to his feet and took off down the dilapidated hallway. He no longer took
care to be quiet; the whole estate was now awake and buzzing with frantic activity, no one
would be concerned about hearing a few bumps and thuds in the walls. In fact, he wouldn't be
surprised if some panicked servants decided to use the secret passageways in a desperate bid
to escape. He most certainly didn't want to run into them.

There was only one person he wanted to run into now.

The door behind the late Ambassador's portrait appeared out of the darkness but the Doctor
didn't break speed. He barreled through it, mindless of whether there was anyone on the other
side. No one and nothing could stop him now anyway. Nothing…except for whatever
slammed into his nose on the other side of the door.

"Ow!"

The Doctor reeled back, clutching his nose as someone gave a cut-off shriek. A tingling
vibration spread across his face as tears sprung to the corners of his eyes. Of all the injuries
he'd obtained over the last few days, the fact that smacking his nose was what made his eyes
sting was almost laughable. Instead of laughing, the Doctor clenched his eyes shut against the
rising moisture and cradled his now throbbing nose, waiting for the ridiculous pain to subside
so he could get back to thinking, running, whatever it was he was doing before –
"Doctor!"

Something slammed into him again before the Doctor had a chance to register what was said.
Arms wrapped around his torso and the Doctor tensed, both from the pain it brought and his
body's sudden instinct to flee whatever threat it might bring. But then his addled brain finally
caught up with him. The Doctor pried his eyes open and was met with a sea of smooth blonde
hair. "Wose?"

"You came back," Rose practically sang, voice muffled from where her face was pressed
against his chest. She clung to him tighter, hands frantically gripping the back of his jacket as
if the Doctor was made of smoke that might vanish all together if she didn't hold on tight
enough. "You were dying, I thought you were dead, I was sure of it – how – how did you –"

The Doctor held it in as long as he could, grimacing as he felt more barely-healed scabs
stretch and crack open beneath the embrace, but finally gasped, "Rose, I love you, I really do,
but…..owww."

"Oh my God," Rose jumped back as if burned. "Oh my God, I'm so sorry. Are you okay?"

The Doctor sagged as if the tension and pain in his shoulders had been the only thing holding
him up. Or maybe it was from relief. Rose was standing in front of him, worrying her lip as
she eyed the Time Lord with concern, and the Doctor realized the thrumming in his veins was
not from distress, but elation. He had found her, she was here, standing before him with her
hands half outstretched as if she were afraid to touch him. Afraid he might break in half or
shatter, but she couldn't stop from reaching for him. "Doctor, please, are you alright?"

Staring at Rose now, for the first time in days the Doctor felt no pain. No pain, no fear, no
heartsache. Only the expanding glow in his chest. He couldn't have stopped the smile that
spread across his face at the sight of her even if he wanted to. "I've never felt better." He
finally answered, believing it with every fiber of his being.

Rose smiled back and it was as if every single sun in the universe burned impossibly bright in
that one moment. Caught in her orbit, the Doctor suddenly couldn't survive the short distance
between them any longer. Carefully, for his sake and for hers, he reached out and drew her in
for a long overdue kiss.

It didn't last long, though. There was only so much the Doctor could convey with the simple
touch and he couldn't stand not looking at her for even that long. He never wanted to take his
eyes off of her again. One hand carded through her hair to cradle the back of her neck and his
finger caught on something cool and metal.

"I see you got my gift."

Rose grinned as she raised a hand to idly stroke the lowest stone on the necklace. She opened
her mouth to respond, but her smile quickly faded. "You're bleeding." She pointed out, voice
etched with concern.

The Doctor pressed a finger to his upper lip and when he looked down he found it painted
orange with blood. He could feel it now trickling from his nose and over his lip and was glad
he had taken the chance to kiss her first. "You have a hard head."

" You died!" Rose suddenly snapped. She pounded her fists on his chest – " owww. " – as she
glared up at him. "I thought you died. I watched you die." She grabbed the front of his blue
jacket and tugged as her voice took on a hard, broken edge. "Don't ever, ever do that to me.
Not again. I watched you die once, I can't do it a second time. I can't – promise me you won't
–"

Rose's head fell onto his chest as a sob threatened to overcome her. She tugged harder on the
Doctor's lapels as if she could pull him back through Time, back to before she knew what
true hopelessness and pain and terror felt like. "Promise you won't leave me again." She
realized she was still saying. There was no room in her soul to be mortified by her own
weakness right then. At that moment, she felt weak. Hopeful and relieved, but so very, very
weak.

"Shhhh," The Doctor soothed, feeling his chest constrict even tighter than before as his
companion collapsed against him, hands still fisted in his coat. He gently eased her back so
he could look her in the eye, willing with everything he had that Rose could see the sincerity
and understanding burning through him as he said, "I'm right here, I'm fine. I'll never leave
you again." Even as he said it he knew it was a lie. He would have to, one day, one way or
another. But by the stars, if he could fight his way out of this ordeal there was nothing that
could stop him from fighting fate and inevitability himself. He would stay with her forever,
for however many lifetimes she would allow.

A tear had finally escaped down Rose's face and the Doctor moved to wipe it away, letting
the pad of his thumb sweep carefully beneath her eye. It was only then that he noticed the
slowly developing shadow along her cheek, the hand-shaped bruise etching its way into her
skin.

A storm turned in the Doctor's eyes. He felt his body tighten, his jaw clench, as anger such as
he'd never felt before swept through him. His hand trembled where it caressed Rose's cheek
and blood pounded in his ears like drums of war. " Jancon." He growled with primal rage.
She was supposed to be kept safe, she was supposed to be protected, she was –

Rose reached up to cover his hand in hers, stilling the quakes of fury as she pressed her cheek
more firmly into his grasp. "It doesn't hurt." She told him honestly. "Leave him, we have to
go. How did you –"

"Rose!"

The shout came from down the hallway. The Doctor and Rose jumped and whipped around
just in time to see someone hurl themselves around the corner only to stop dead in their
tracks. In that instant, all the air was sucked out of the hallway. Familiar gray eyes widened in
surprise beneath untidy ashen hair as Jancon froze, eyes darting between the two of them as if
he couldn't quite comprehend their existence.

Electricity surged through the Doctor. He needed to charge – although whether it was telling
him to run towards the Prebassador and throttle him or away, he wasn't entirely sure.
'Towards him' felt better. 'Towards him' made the Doctor's blood boil, ready and willing, with
righteous rage. 'Towards him' sounded right.

Jancon broke the frozen moment first. "Guards!" He shouted over his shoulder, not daring to
move closer to the pair by himself. Rose flinched at his raised voice. "Guards! To me! Now!"

That decided it. As furious as the Doctor was, he couldn't take on Jancon and the guards all
by himself. He had to get Rose to safety first. He grabbed her hand and hissed " Run! "

They bounded down the corridor, hand in hand, as they had so many times. Rose's heels
clacked against the smooth wood as she lagged behind, not used to running with such a
disadvantage. The Doctor gripped her hand tighter. They didn't have to last much longer. The
door to her room was straight ahead.

"Ren! The door!" He shouted before they even reached the room, hoping to give the human
time to open the TARDIS for them. He could hear the guards pounding up the hallway, soon
to be hot on their heels. Jancon was shouting again but the roaring in his ears drowned out the
actual words.

Three steps away. Two. One. The Doctor crashed through the door, ready to run straight into
the TARDIS and fly away from this hell-hole, Rose's hand still clutched in his. But the sight
that met him in front of the TARDIS doors left his stumbling to a halt. Ren, on his knees with
his hands raised. Ren, with blood dripping down his face and oozing from a gunshot wound
on his left shoulder. Ren, with the barrel of a blaster pressed to his temple, a guard towering
over him with his other hand gripping the human's dark brown hair.

Rose crashing into the Doctor from behind with a gasp. "What the…?"

Footsteps tramped up the hallway just outside the room. The Doctor acted on instinct – move
away from the door! – and dragged Rose further into the room. Further away from the
TARDIS. A moment later two guards tumbled through the doorway followed closely by their
master. The Doctor shoved Rose behind him as he backed away, eyes darting around for any
escape. There was none. They were cornered. Pressed up against the wall of her room with
only the windows and a three story jump at their backs. He might walk away from that fall
unhurt. Rose wouldn't. And he highly doubted Ren would survive the repercussions either.

Panic took over as the Doctor tried to stand tall, shielding Rose as best he could with his own
body. He glanced over at Ren, hoping to see a plan forming in the human's eyes, but his face
was too pale from blood loss and his bloody shoulder sagged. Ren bowed his head. "I'm
sorry, Doctor." He muttered in defeat. The Doctor tried hard not to feel it press against him,
too.

There was only one thing he could do now.

Improvise.

His hand dove into his pocket and whipped out the sonic screwdriver, holding it in front of
him as one would a gun. He had an idea of how ridiculous he looked, but he kept his hand
steady and leveled the blue tip at Jancon's head.
All three guards turned their guns on him and Rose, shouting as their fingers chomped at the
triggers. For a moment it looked as if they were about to shoot. Rose grabbed at the Doctor's
arm as an involuntary whimper escaped her lips. After all of this, after everything they had
been through, they were going to be gunned down like nothing, cornered in a posh room on
an extravagant estate billions and billions of lightyears away from home. As if none of it had
mattered. As if they never mattered.

But then Jancon raised his steady hand and, with a scowl, signaled the guards to stop. As one
they removed their fingers from the triggers. The guns stayed aimed at their heads. But if
looks could kill, Jancon wouldn't need his guards anyway. Bullets could be forged by the heat
in those steel gray eyes.

"You filthy piece of shit." Jancon spat. "How dare you come back here and attempt to rob me
blind yet again."

An animalistic growl ripped from the Doctor's throat. How dare the Doctor? How dare
Jancon! How dare the monster that stole Rose from him in the first place stand between them
now, as if the Doctor was the one out of line.

Before he could put voice to the possessive fire surging through him, Jancon roared over him.
"Stand down, John. You're defeated. You've lost."

By some miracle, the sonic stayed level, adrenaline fortifying the Doctor's hand and heart.
"This isn't a game anymore, Jancon. People have died."

"And do you truly want Rose and whoever this," He waved a hand dismissively towards Ren,
"Is so join them? Surrender now, you've nowhere else to go."

"Neither do you." The Doctor bluffed, reaffirming his grip on the sonic. "Do you think I'm
really so stupid as to come back here without a plan? I made three charges, and I don't know
about you but I only heard two go off. And I promise you, the third one is placed in a much
more populated location. The shuttle hangar you wife was just ushered off to for evacuation,
perhaps?"

A new darkness spread across Jancon's face. The Doctor continued before his hand could
start shaking. "Let us go, peacefully, or I'll trigger the third charge and we'll see whose
playing games now."

Jancon sneered. "I won't call you stupid if you will show me the same courtesy. I know you,
John. I own you. You would never purposefully place someone else in harm's way."

The Doctor's eyebrows shot up. "You really believe that? You sent me into that arena. You
knew what would come out. But then again, you were never planning on me getting out of
there alive, were you?"

Jancon straightened indignantly. "I had a contingency plan for every outcome." He
announced. "Every outcome except cowardice. Even that I thought was beneath you."

"Then you really didn't know me at all."

An eternity occurred in the split second of silence that followed his words. Jancon's eyes,
hungry and intelligent in a way the Doctor could never deny, bore into him. Conditioning told
the Doctor to look away, to bow his head and beg for forgiveness when his Master looked at
him with such unmasked anger and ingenuity – no simple punishment could be devised
behind those storming eyes. But the Doctor simple squared his shoulders against the impulse
and tapped his finger warningly against the handle of his sonic, feigning a confidence he was
quickly losing.

"Then it seems we are at an impasse." Jancon drawled deceptively. "Only a coward would be
foolhardy enough to make such a ridiculous threat and follow through on it, and as I have just
as much interest in allowing my wife to be killed as you do Rose, it seems the only avenue
left is compromise. After all, I am a man of politics and business as much as I am a man of
my word. And unlike you, I intend to keep my promises." His gray gaze flitted from Rose to
Ren. "My offer for Miss Rose's safety still stands. An offer I shall graciously extend to your
companion as well. For you, however, not so much."

The Doctor felt more than heard Rose snarl behind him. "You think we're just going to leave
him here!?"

"Rose." The Doctor warned as all three guards tensed at her outbreak. She hadn't even
noticed she had leapt in front of the Doctor as if she could fight off all four strong, armed
men should they dare try to take him away. But she wouldn't back down now even as the
Doctor gently tried to pull her away.

"He would never consider it."

"He already is." Jancon smirked, eyes twinkling as he took in the Doctor slightly shaking
hand. The silver casing of the sonic quivered.

"Why?" Was all he said, but it conveyed everything he needed to ask. It was clear enough
who had control of the room and it wasn't the Doctor. Jancon saw straight through his bluff,
he was sure of it, and the Doctor simply couldn't think of anything else. He was exhausted
and terrified and in so, so much pain. He still wanted to fight, but he could hardly keep
himself upright as it was, let alone protect both Rose and Ren, who had fallen under his
pathetic excuse for protection the moment he stepped foot in the TARDIS. His priority, as it
always was, was his companions' safety.

Jancon's causal shrug contrasted sharply with his murderous glare. "Well, for one thing, you
owe me 1.3 million credits. But I also hear blood is notoriously difficult to remove from
carpet, and I would hate for your first task back as my slave to be cleaning your mate's
remains from the floor."

Rose spun on the Doctor, expression so Jackie-like he felt his heart twist with yet more guilt.
What had he done to her daughter? He told Jackie he would protect her, that she would be
safe. Rose needed to be with her mother at the Powell Estate, with Mickey the Idiot and
beans on toast and chips drenched in vinegar and salt. She needed to be home.

"Don't. You dare." Rose spoke clearly despite her quiet voice. "You give in, I give in."
"Rose, don't be –"

" You don't get in the TARDIS, I don't get in the TARDIS. That's how it works. That's how it's
always worked. You promised me, not five minutes ago, that you'd never leave me again. Are
you going to prove Jancon right? Are you really not a man of your word?"

The Doctor could only hold her glare for a moment before dropping his gaze. Despite the
severity of her declaration and all that it meant, a small, irrepressible grin formed on his lips
for only Rose to see. "That….is a low blow, Rose Tyler." He grumbled to the floor.

Lifting his head, the Doctor glanced over at Ren. With the attention of the blaster focused on
the Doctor and Rose Ren had lowered his arms, right hand cradling his left shoulder. Red,
human blood seeped out from between his fingers. The guard still had one hand fisted in
Ren's hair, holding the human in place, but as their eyes met Ren gave a single steady nod.

"I didn't come all this way just to leave you behind." He said gruffly, earning himself a shout
from the guard behind him to be silent. Ren winced and bowed his head as the muzzle of the
gun was pressed once again to the base of his skull, but he kept his eyes trained on Rose and
the Doctor. Ready.

Stealing himself, the Doctor said, "Okay" to the room.

A suspicious look flitted across the Prebassador's face. "'Okay' what, John?" He pressed
impatiently. The Doctor renewed his grip on the sonic, ready to give his answer, when new
footsteps could suddenly be heard running towards them up the hallway.

"Jancon!" Ilaria's voice split through the heavy atmosphere of the room, breathy and light,
before the woman herself appeared in the doorway. "What are you doing? We're meant to
evacuate, Captain Anomen has the shut – what's going on?" Her purple eyes danced from her
husband to the guards to the kneeling stranger on the floor before landing, inevitably, on the
pair backed into the corner of the room. Her entire face lit up with joy at the sight of them.
"JOHN!"

She ran forward just as Jancon reach for her. "Ilaria, no, stay back!" But she twisted away
from his grasp and threw herself at the Doctor, shoving Rose aside like she was nothing more
than a piece of furniture in her way.

"You came back!" She sang in relief as she tossed her arms around the stunned Time Lord's
shoulders, squeezing him close. The pain of this embrace hit him much sharper than Rose's
had and the Doctor audibly gasped in shock. Ilaria, in true Ilaria fashion, ignored it and just
hugged him closer. "I knew you'd return to us! We missed you so much. Did you miss us?
Oh, it hardly matters now, you're home!" She rambled ecstatically. She pulled away from the
Doctor so she could look up at him, smile dipping slightly at the Doctor's blank, assessing
stare. "Aren't you happy, John? You're home."

This was it. The Doctor grabbed Ilaria by the shoulders, spun her around, and pressed the tip
of the screwdriver against her vulnerable throat. The worst he could do was take her voice
away for a little while, but from the way Ilaria's entire body tensed and the guards practically
leapt to their mistress's aid, they had no clue.
"This is my answer, Jancon." The Doctor glared down the seething alien. "One last chance:
let us go."

"John? John, what are you doing?" Ilaria shrieked in dismay.

" Be quiet. " He hissed more aggressively than he felt and jabbed the tip of the screwdriver
further into her neck.

"Release her, John." Jancon said almost calmly, hands slipping into the pockets of his evening
coat as if his wife's safety was inconsequential. An inconvenience for the moment.

"Call back your men and let us leave!"

"Leave?" Ilaria sobbed. "You can't leave."

"Ilaria, darling, don't move. He won't hurt you."

"Are you so certain?" The Doctor challenged. "Want to test it?"

"John, please," Ilaria cried, going almost slack in his hold, "You can't leave. We only just got
you back."

"I said be quiet! " The Doctor let all the pain and terror and bloodlust of the arena leach into
his voice. He let the Oncoming Storm darken his features like clouds rolling over a hill and
the flurry of Time Lord Righteousness burn through his every cell. "You wanted to create a
killer, Jancon, well here he is."

"All I see is a pathetic last ditch effort from a desperate child. Did you think I wouldn't know
a sonic device when I see one? Unless you intend to disassemble my wife's necklace -"

"John, why are you doing this?" Ilaria cut in, voice hoarse with fear and confusion. "I thought
you loved us?"

The woman was delusional, but her husband far from it. Jancon stood straight with
unwavering confidence and power, glowering at the Doctor, seeing straight through him. The
guards practically vibrated with anxious energy. Every eye in the room was on him. Too
many eyes.

Ren's eyes.

The Doctor barely caught sight of the movement. Ever so slowly, the human was moving his
arms, raising them as if in surrender once again. As their eyes met, Ren gave the faintest of
nods. He was still ready. So was the Doctor.

The Doctor pulled the sonic screwdriver away from Ilaria's throat and activated it. The sonic
whirled to life just as Jancon brandished something from his pocket -

BOOM!
Several things happened at once. The room spun wildly out of control as the explosion shook
through the building. Plaster crumbled from the ceiling. The windows shattered. Both Ilaria
and Rose were thrown backwards into the cascade of falling glass while the Doctor tipped
forward, collapsing to his knees. Jancon dropped to the floor and wrapped his hands
protectively over his neck with practiced ease, as if he had prepared for the eventuality of an
attack.

But the Doctor only had eyes for Ren. Quick as a viper, the human used the distraction to
clamp his hands over the barrel of the gun pressed to his scalp. He jerked the guards arm up
and over his head as he threw his shoulders back, slamming them into the guard's solar
plexus. Doubled over, Ren used the guard's own weight to toss the alien over his shoulder,
twisting his hands at the same time until the guard's wrist cracked. He howled as the gun fell
limply from his ruined hand and Ren snatched it up, taking only a second to aim before bang!

The guard fell limply to the ground, dead. Still from his half-prone position, Ren reangled the
gun and let off two more shots. One hit the guard directly behind Jancon in the side, sending
him crashing to the floor with a pained shout, while the other pierced straight through the last
guard's neck, killing him instantly.

All of this before the shaking had even passed. As the last tremors of the explosion petered
off the Doctor climbed to his feet, using the edge of the bed to hoist himself up. Ren as
already standing, one more shot silencing the pained cries of the wounded guard forever.
Now, his gun turned on the slowly recovering Prebassador.

"Shall I do the honors?" Ren asked amicably, as if offering to pour the tea at a party. Such a
simple question compared to the rest, and one the Doctor was all too willing to answer. A
venomous yes was half formed on his lips when a shout of "NO!" suddenly froze him in his
tracks. He spun around, having momentarily forgotten about Ilaria, and felt the world slip out
from beneath his feet.

Ilaria stood with one arm wrapped around Rose's waist, holding the human girl close to her
body as her other hand pressed a viciously sharp piece of broken glass against Rose's neck.
Her purple eyes were mad and rolling as she preached to the Doctor, "You're not leaving us,
you can't leave us!"

Ren's gun swiveled around to land on Ilaria, but the Doctor knew from this angle he would
never get a clean shot with Rose in the way. No longer under cover of the gun, Jancon pulled
himself up, dusting off his suit unconcernedly.

Rose stared at the Doctor through eyes wide with terror. Her voice trembled only slightly as
she said, "Ilaria, think about what you're doing."

" BE QUIET!" Ilaria roared, voice on the edge of hysteria. The Doctor felt his lips pull back
in a snarl, baring his teeth as the woman turned back to him. "You're choosing this bitch over
me? Over your family here? No, I won't let you! I'll help you make the decision if I have to!"

"No, Ilaria, stop!" The Doctor raced forward, but he was too late. With a shout, Ilaria drew
back her hand and blindly slashed the glass across Rose's throat.
The Doctor saw red. Red painting the jagged tip of the glass. Red splashing over Rose's pale
skin. Red dripping into his vision like a visceral filter of rage. It was all he could see. Not
Rose falling to the floor. Not Rose reaching for her neck in shock. Only Ilaria and the glass
and red, red, red.

Something new simmered through him. Heat piercing through the cells at the back of his
neck, trickling through his body. Bone-deep hatred and rage even he hadn't thought himself
capable of moments ago rushed through him like a tidal wave of wrath. The Doctor launched
himself at Ilaria as it all ricocheted through him. His only thought was to get her away, to
attack, to kill.

His hand wrapped around her throat, claw-like, as she was slammed backwards into the
empty windowpane. Ilaria screamed and slashed at him with the bloody shard. It raked across
the fragile skin on the Doctor's face, slicing a shallow, thin line. Rose's blood mixed with his.
An animalistic howl ripped from the Doctor's throat as he grabbed the wrist still clutching the
piece of glass and smashed it one, twice, three times against the wall until Ilaria dropped it
with a terrified, anguished cry. He rammed her hand into the wall once more before he heard
a satisfying crack and another shrill scream of agony. He drank it in, relishing the sound and
scent of fear and pain and death.

His skin was too hot, but hers was cool and clammy with sweat. He clenched his hand tighter
around her throat, trying to suck in the cold, but it did nothing to quench the feverish pulse
rushing through him. He snarled and felt cool liquid slide passed the corner of his mouth. The
blood trickling down the side of his chin felt pleasantly icy in comparison. He needed more.
He needed blood.

The woman's face was turning blue but it needed to be red. He needed red. Red meant blood.
Blood meant cold. Whatever he had been planning to do, it wasn't working. It was turning her
the wrong color. He shouldn't be squeezing her throat…he should be ripping it out.

" Doctor! " Someone shouted behind him. The name sounded familiar, the voice achingly
right, but he couldn't turn away, not when he was so close. His free hand reared back, fingers
curling into talons, getting ready to slash, when something collided with his shoulder.

He fell into a tangle of limbs. Something was on top of him, pinning him to the floor.
Whatever – whoever – it was struck him across the face, but the thing was weak,
unaccustomed to fighting and killing. He would end it quickly. Use its blood to cool the
inferno beneath his skin. He wanted it. Needed it. He was going to die.

Muscle memory told him his legs could be weapons as well as his nails and teeth. He swung
his legs up, knees striking the grayish thing on top of him at the center of its spine. His teeth
gnashed together as the thing's throat came within biting distance. He could almost taste its
ashy skin. But the thing pulled back and tumbled over his form, rolling weakly away. He
lunged after it, fingers groping desperately for an ankle, an arm, anything. Faces danced
before him. Disembodied faces that couldn't have been there before. He head ached. If only
he could kill them, could bleed them, maybe they would leave him alone. He had to try.

Something grabbed his left arm and pulled sharply. Fingers jabbed into the half-healed
wound on the inside of his elbow, sending shots of pain up his arm. He howled and struck out
at whatever was holding him, hearing the smack of skin on skin mix with a familiar cry of
surprise.

Too familiar. The howling, boiling heat in his head momentarily dampened. The ruby haze
that had fallen over his vision lifted suddenly, throwing the room into harsh bursts of light.
The Doctor winced and tried to shut his eyes, but all he could see was Rose kneeling in front
of him, cradling the side of her face with a look of utmost panic in her large brown eyes.
Small red tendrils of blood stained the front of her dress, oozing from the small slices along
her throat, no larger than shaving nicks. The wiring holding her necklace together, on the
other hand, was bent and broken in places as if someone had tried to cut through the
bindings. Someone using a shard of glass only sharp enough to pierce the surface layers of
skin beneath the intricate wire detailing.

"Rose?"

His voice was too quiet against the pounding in his ears, but somehow he heard every
cadence of Rose's words as she shakily asked, "Where's the anti-virus?"

The anti-virus? The Doctor frowned as he followed her hand down to where she still clung to
his arm, eyes falling on the gap of skin beneath the crook of his elbow. Empty, bloody skin.
"W-why-"

Red was beginning to pulse behind his eyes once more. He looked around, head swiveling
from one side to the next as if he had no idea where he was. Ilaria was slouched against the
wall, hacking and clutching at her bruised throat. Ren stood, horrified and frozen, across the
room. Jancon continued to scramble away, sliding inelegantly over the carpet in a desperate
bid to get away from the Time Lord. As he dragged himself forward, something fell from his
hand: a thin, black remote. The Doctor recognized it. The Doctor had made it.

His stomach churned. Nausea. Vomiting. The room danced in front of him, wavering in a
kaleidoscope of light and images that couldn't possibly be there. Confusion. Hallucinations.
His head throbbed and burned – Fever. Headache. – and as he licked his lips he tastes cooling
spit and metallic blood. Excessive salvation. Bloodlust.

He could feel the symptoms closing in on him now that he knew what to look for. The ruby
haze, the burning needles down his spine, the rapidly increasing speed of his hearts,
desperately beating away as if they could beat themselves straight out of his ruined body.
Jancon's virus. Jancon's weapon. Jancon's fault!

In what he knew might be his last moments of clarity, the Doctor turned his darkening,
slanted eyes on Ren. "Get her away from me." He hissed with all the love and raptured
desperation he could manage at the moment. Rose stared at the Doctor with open confusion
as the Time Lord shoved himself backwards, scrambling as far away from the human as
possible " Get her away from me! "

"Doctor, what's happening? Where's the cure?"

" REN! "

Ren threw himself forward and it was like a switch had gone off. The Doctor snarled at the
sudden movement, launching himself to his feet to attack the threat. A loud BANG rang
through the air and an intense, sharp pain pierced through his shoulder. He was thrown
backwards into the wall, a pained yelp escaping his curled lips. Cool liquid gushed over his
arm. It felt so good. He needed more.

The brown thing that attacked him grabbed the yellow thing by the arms and dragged it back.
The yellow thing shouted something, kicking and twisting in a desperate bid to escape, but
the brown one held tight. He wanted to attack again, the rip into the brown thing, to taste its
blood, to bathe in it, but his shoulder pulsed with agony. The too-bright, too-red room tilted
as his legs gave out. The yellow one screamed again – its words were unintelligible. It fought
against the brown one, fingers clawing at the edge of a blue object as the brown thing tried to
drag it through the opening. He should follow. The blue object called to him. The blue object
felt safe.

Cold flesh brushed against his hand, reminding him of the burning, raging inferno beneath his
skin. It hurt. It needed to end. The purple one (the bad one, the one that hurt the yellow one)
was curled up beside him, a harsh wheezing noise issuing from its mouth. It was breathing. It
should be dead. He wanted it dead.

"No!"

He didn't know what the word meant, but he felt something strike him across the back. He
didn't feel the pain though. The pain was nothing compared to the flames in his skull. He
turned to find the gray one standing over him, a metal object held in its hand like a weapon.
Pathetic. What kind of weapon was that compared to teeth and claws?

The gray thing would find out soon. He pounced on the enemy, throwing it back to the floor.
He raked at the gray one's chest with blunted claws that didn't even break through the fabric
covering its skin. He needed new claws, or extra nails. One hand fumbled over a pile of
sharp, see-through things and he grabbed one at random, wound up his makeshift claw, and
slashed.

An agonized scream mixed with the exquisite gush of fresh blood. It splashed over his
burning hands and lapped at his knees. Perfect. He pulled his hand back, ready to try again,
wanting more, needing more –

Something heavy slammed into the back of his head. Red gave way to encroaching black. He
keeled forward, face falling into a puddle of cold, heavenly blood. He breathed a sigh of
relief and snuggled closer to the ice as the darkness finally took over.
 Chapter 60

One day the Doctor will die. His hearts will stop beating. His lungs will cease to inflate. His
eyes will no longer open. The synapses in his brain will finally shut down the flow of
electrical impulses from one neuron to the next and he will finally sleep. No pain. No
thoughts. No agonizing burst of energy bringing him back to life – or rather another man
back to life. Just… sleep.

Today he would not sleep though. Not the all-encompassing sleep that pulled temptingly at
his aching cells, at least. Even though he couldn't open his eyes, as if cement blocks had been
adhered individually to each eyelash, he knew. He could feel the beating of his hearts through
his chest, slow and shallow, unconcerned. He could hear the flow of oxygen moving through
his body as his lungs worked dutifully to fulfill their purpose. Even his brain, slow to react at
first, was waking up, sending spasms of thoughts and memories through the Doctor's mind
like a horror movie on scratched film.

But that was all he felt. The Doctor knew in some detached, disconnected way that he should
be in pain. He knew his left shoulder should be a heap of agonized tissue and muscle. The
back of his neck should feel as if the skin had been burned off with acid. His body should
ache and throb and protest to its continued sensitivity.

But all he could feel in that moment was a darkness thicker than the black behind his eyelids
encroaching on him yet again.

The next time he woke, the pain he had expected before greeted him like an old friend. It was
softer than he had anticipated though, more distant. His mind wondered briefly how much
time had passed (but passed between what, he wasn't quite sure.)

Along with the new sensation of pain came warmth. Something warm and solid was draped
over his right side, resting against his chest. Unlike the hellish heat that had scarred his brain
earlier, this warmth was soft and comforting. It moved on its own every few seconds, as if the
warmth itself was a living, breathing entity. He realized almost subconsciously that it moved
in time with his own breathing, only heavier and deeper, as if the warmth was lost in sleep.

The cement that had been covering his eyes earlier lifted. Filled with new and familiar
curiosity, the Doctor carefully peeled them open, only to slam them shut a second later. The
world on the other side of his eyelids was too bright, too colorful. But he knew he had to at
least try again. He opened his eyes enough to peer through the quivering shelter of his
eyelashes and was greeted by a mass of yellow.

No, not yellow – blonde. A blonde head was resting on his chest, face turned away from him
so their long hair spilled over his neck and shoulder, tickling his exposed skin. But he didn't
need to see their face to know who it was. Her hair smelled like Earth and the Time vortex
and the sweet flowers of Shelwick. Ignoring the sharp protests of his muscles, the Doctor
raised his right hand to run his fingers through the soft, yellow strands. Or tried to, at least.
His hand came up short, wrist catching on something thick holding it down on the edge of the
bed. Tubes and wiring ran from his hand to some unknown source and a fabric-lined leather
cuff wrapped around his wrist.

Rose shifted slightly against him in her sleep, a soft sound escaping her as she moved closer
to him. A small smile pulled at the Doctor's lips, but the effort of even that simple movement
combined with lifting his hand left him feeling spent and ragged. His eyelids slipped closed
on their own accord.

When the Doctor woke the third time, he knew instantly that he wasn't alone. There was no
warm pressure against his side, no cascade of blonde hair or the steady beat of his
companion's single heart pounding against this chest. But he could still sense someone
nearby. Opening his eyes took less effort this time than it had before, but the room was still
dizzyingly bright and overwhelming. He winced and squinted until the room righted itself.

Finally, he was able to make out the profile of Ren, sitting beside him with his head bowed as
he read a book the Doctor recognized from his own library. It took a while – far too long – for
the Doctor to realize that. The silence and uncertainty was suddenly too much to contain.

"You shot me." The Doctor croaked. The words sounded painful even to his own ears, throat
dry and scratchy from lack of use.

Ren glanced up from the book. His face gave nothing away as he scanned the Doctor,
assessing how best to respond. Eventually he settled with, "Yes, I did."

The Doctor nodded and let his eyes slip shut, but didn't go back to sleep. Yet. "Thank you."
He whispered after a minute.

"Don't mention it." The human responded gruffly. A moment of companionable silence
passed between them before Ren added, "No, seriously. Don't mention it. Rose almost shot
me herself when she saw the wound."

The Doctor made a noise that could have been construed as a laugh if his throat hadn't closed
painfully around the sound. "Seems about right. How long…?"

When it was apparent the Doctor wasn't going to go back to sleep anytime soon, Ren folded
the book closed and leaned forward. "It's been about a week. You've been more unconscious
than not since I met you, you know."

"I'll have to break the habit." The Doctor mumbled. More memories were slowly coming
back to him now. He realized with an interesting lack of emotion on the matter that he
shouldn't have been unconscious at all. He should have been dead. "How?"

Ren just shook his head. "You'll have to ask Rose that one. I was too busy trying to stabilize
you and keep you from killing anyone else."

Anyone else. The Doctor heard it but wasn't brave enough to ask. His last few moments of
consciousness back at the estate were all a horrible hazy blur of heat and anger and red. He
didn't want to ask because he didn't really want to know.

Thankfully, Ren didn't seem to want to go into details either. After a moment he jerked his
head towards the door to the TARDIS infirmary. Even though the Doctor (surprisingly) didn't
spend much time in the infirmary, he would recognize the comforting glow of his TARDIS
anywhere. "I kicked her out, by the way." Ren was saying. "Told her she couldn't come back
until she took a shower and got something to eat. Hopefully it's going better than last time –
she tried to wash her hair in the kitchen sink while she was waited for her toast to pop."

The Doctor smiled dreamily at the image. He would expect nothing less from his Rose.
Describing that scene might have been the longest the Doctor had ever heard Ren talk
without insulting someone. He got the distinct impression the human wasn't too comfortable
talking to someone on their sickbed. Luckily for Ren, the Doctor was beginning to feel the
tempting pull of sleep once again. All of this sleeping was exhausting.

"She's probably curled up on the other side of the door waiting for your ship to let her back
in. Want me to go get her?" Ren asked almost hopefully, but the Doctor dashed his dreams by
shaking his head slowly. He let himself fall further into the dark abyss, knowing Rose was
safe and that Ren was Mother Hen-ing her for him. He himself felt warm, secure, and
comfortable, and that was all he needed for now. Knowing Ren was still there and that Rose
was probably cursing at the TARDIS just outside his door, the Doctor feel back asleep.

"Come on, sleepyhead." A voice called to him. It was soft and quite, glittering with
gentleness, almost as if the speaker was talking to themself. But no, the Doctor thought,
consciousness trying to track the voice back out of his oblivion. No, there was something in
his hair, brushing his fringe back so his scalp tingled pleasantly. He gave a satisfied groan,
turning his head towards the fingers, searching for their touch. They didn't disappoint. It had
been speaking to him.

"It's time to wake up." The voice was saying once again, and somehow the Doctor managed
to find his own.

"Five more minutes." He rasped, still trying to lean into the digits toying with his hair. But
the fingers pulled back sharply at his words. Startled, the Doctor pried his eyes open,
grimacing as the bright lights stabbed at his sensitive pupils. He didn't like this. Not at all. He
wanted the darkness behind his eyelids back. He wanted the sensation of loving fingers
combing through his hair. He wanted that soft, soothing voice.

But they were a thing of dreams. Like the voice said - it was time to wake up.

Rose sat in a chair to his left, wet hair bundled on top of her head in a messy bun. She was
wearing one of her ratty old sweaters, the kind that was several sizes too large with sleeves
that fell far passed her hands. She loved that sweater. She had left in on the TARDIS that day
they visited Drephesh. She had complained about it in the cold of their cell, when the sun had
sunk far below the sand dunes and the desert was thrown into an eerie chill. But now, she had
it back. The Doctor felt a pull at the bottom of his throat, like something hot had been lodged
there, to see her in it again.
The cuffs of the sweater had been pushed back. Rose cradled her hand as if it had just been
burned and the Doctor wondered if those could have possibly been the fingers that had carded
through his hair moments ago. They seemed so far away now.

"Sorry," Rose mumbled, smiling carefully. "I didn't mean to wake you."

"Yes, you did." The Doctor replied without thinking.

Rose went scarlet. "Yes, I did." She agreed quietly. "It's been over a week."

The Doctor shrugged as best he could from his prone position. His wrists had been freed
from the restraints, it seemed. "I always was stubborn about waking up."

"I missed you." Rose admitted in barely more than an exhale. She tore her eyes away from
him and started fiddling, self-consciously, with the cuffs of her sweater.

The Doctor stared at her for a long moment, hearts beating sadly at the way she wouldn't
even look at him. With a great deal of effort, the Doctor managed to get his right hand
beneath himself and hoist his upper body into a semi-upright position. The world swam
around him and his body rang with soreness – but this time it was a soreness born from
staying still for too long. Gone was the all-encroaching ache of recent torture. His skin didn't
sting from re-opened cuts. He felt – amazingly – whole again.

"Yeah – well – of course you did." He gasped as he struggled into a sitting position. "You
probably haven't been nearly killed for a whole week. How utterly boring."

At this, Rose gave another weak smile. She stood quickly to shift the Doctor's pillows,
fluffing them up so he could rest back on them while still sitting upright. The Doctor was
immensely grateful. His body was already trembling from the exertion of propping himself
up in the first place.

"Tell me about it." Said Rose as she sat down again, this time on the edge of his mattress,
endearingly close. "The most danger I've seen in days was when Ren accidentally tried to stir
his coffee with one of your old screwdrivers. You should have seen it. Coffee...everywhere."

The Doctor winced. "Glad I didn't. I don't think I would have been able to handle that amount
of peril." The words barely made it out of his mouth before a fit of coughing overtook him.
The Doctor doubled over, hand pressed to his neck as the hacking continued. Each rush of
forced air was like sandpaper brushing against this throat.

After a while, the harsh coughing subsided into harsh wheezes. His lungs clenched and
strained for air, but his throat seemed to have decided that breathing was too much of a
difficulty and wasn't worth trying again. It took him a moment to regain control, but the air
still felt far too sharp and abrasive.

"Here." He heard that voice from earlier say before something solid and cold touched his lips.
A hand at the base of his spine helped him tilt his head back as cool, delicious water poured
into his mouth. Instinctively, the Doctor swallowed.
Fire erupted in his throat. The Doctor's body seized up as the water burned its way down his
ruined esophagus. There was too much of it. Too fast. Too cold. He tried to cough it up but
only succeeded in inhaling more. It was happening. He panicked. He didn't want to drown
again.

"Easy, easy. Careful. Doctor, breathe. Come on, breathe with me." He felt a warm,
comfortable weight press against his back, arms reaching around his chest in an embrace. He
was still sputtering and choking, but somehow he still felt the body behind him take a deep,
slow breath. It seemed so easy, so peaceful.

He tried to match her breathing. It took a few tries – inhaling too sharply and exhaling in
stilted, desperate hacks too many times – but eventually the Doctor was able to breathe on his
own again. He sat there, gasping, ears ringing from the sudden silence his coughing had left
behind. Rose's arms were still around him.

"This is what you did." Rose said by way of explanation with her face pressed into his
shoulder. "For me, when I had that attack. It seemed to work."

Still gasping, the Doctor managed to nod. "It – gasp – certainly did the – gasp – trick."

Rose squeezed him tighter before letting go. "Oh no, you've ripped your stitches."

"My what?" The Doctor frowned. Now that he was more aware of himself, he felt something
warm and thick trickling slowly down his spine. He reached behind his head to the base of
his spine, where his fingers met something warm and sticky.

"Well, you blew up your lab, you great dolt." Rose chided as she stood up to grab a wad of
gauze from the nearby table. "So there was only one other place I knew of that had the
antivirus."

The Doctor's eyes flew open. "Rose?" He asked slowly. "Did you try to surgically activate the
tag in my neck?"

"Well, what else was I supposed to do?" She shot back. "Besides, I didn't try…I did." She
tossed him a rather proud smirk as she pressed the gauze to the wound. "And then I got rid of
that horrid thing. Just like in that old board game."

"Yeah, well, next time, please try to avoid playing Operation with my spine."

Rose tskked at him. "You're fine. And how about next time you don't give me a reason to
need to, okay?"

The Doctor nodded in defeat. "Seems fair, Miss Tyler."

Another day passed before the Doctor was able to stumble out of bed. Two more days before
he could stay awake for longer than a few hours at a time. By the end of the week, however,
the Doctor felt more or less physically back to normal. He was no longer winded by the walk
to the kitchen and could finally manage to hold something without his hands shaking
relentlessly. His energy had spiked back to its usual cosmic state, and by the end of day nine
the Doctor was about ready to crawl out of his own skin.

The joy of finally being back on the TARDIS, safe and secure, had slowly turned into
frustration and restlessness. The easy flow of conversation he'd had with Rose in the
infirmary and developed into something hesitant and tense now with nothing new to distract
them. The Doctor found himself pacing around the TARDIS console hourly now. His fingers
itched as he regarded the control buttons, mentally calculating which levers and toggles he'd
have to pluck in order to get to every corner of the known universe. Anywhere but the Vortex
would be a blessing. The constant presence of Time was putting him on edge, making him
jumpy and desperate to escape its judgement. This incarnation wasn't meant to sit still for this
long. He was supposed to be running.

But he just couldn't.

No where he took them was safe. No where he had ever thought to travel was harmless.
Neither of them were ready for another adventure – and knowing their luck, no matter what
planet they went to, they would probably manage to get in trouble somehow anyway. The
Doctor had made Rose a promise. He simply couldn't do it. He wouldn't. He would never put
Rose in that position ever again. Even though he was slowly losing his mind cramped inside
the TARDIS like this, he just couldn't bring himself to leave.

Even though she'd never admit it, Rose was still healing. She still froze whenever there was a
loud noise, or flinched whenever Ren or the Doctor moved too quickly in her direction.

(Blinded by worry, the Doctor didn't even realize he reacted the same way.)

Just the night before, he had to pretend to still be asleep as he felt Rose crawl into bed with
him, body shaking and single heart racing with fear.

(Blinded by worry, the Doctor didn't realize he couldn't sleep alone at night either.)

Her nightmares were getting worse, but every morning she would slip out of his room before
she thought he would wake, and never spoke a word about it in the light of day. She still
needed time.

(Blinded by worry, the Doctor didn't realize he did, too.)

But now, it was time to go. The Doctor sat in the captain's chair, fiddling mindlessly with the
fraying ends of the sling Rose had forced onto his left arm. The hole that had been ripped
through his shoulder by the bullet had long since healed over, but his shoulder still thrummed
with a bone-deep ache that wouldn't seem to go away. The Doctor stared unseeingly at the
console, willing his body to get up while simultaneously holding it back. But it was time. It
had been almost three weeks since they'd escaped the Estate, and even the Doctor was
running out of excuses. Besides, he had a promise to keep.

"Your ship summoned me?" A gruff voice cut through the silence.
The Doctor barely held back a flinch. He glanced up to find Ren leaning against the door to
the TARDIS control room, arms crossed as he surveyed the Doctor with his astonishingly
blue eyes. Ren had been suspiciously removed since the Doctor left the infirmary. Sometimes
they would see him ghosting through the hallways, or would bump into him in the kitchen as
he poured himself yet another cup of coffee. But for the most part, he had left the Doctor and
Rose more or less to themselves. It was as if the human was purposefully keeping himself
away from them; and in the depths of the TARDIS, that wasn't exactly difficult to do.

A beat passed as the Doctor just stared at Ren, and then suddenly he leapt to his feet. "Oh
yes!" He shouted, trademark grin in place as he bounded towards the TARDIS controls. The
machine seemed to hum with excitement and encouragement as he finally let himself touch
the gleaming knobs and buttons again. "Can't have you skulking around the TARDIS
anymore, can we? Your depressing the nanogenes."

"How thoughtless of me to give you space." Ren deadpanned back.

"Yes, Space, exactly! That was your main problem, wasn't it, Captain? Couldn't seem to get
enough of it, could you." The Doctor spun the computer screen around so he could see the
data he was trying to enter one-handed. For a machine that was supposed to be flown by a
least half a dozen others, the Doctor thought he was doing a surprisingly good job of it
considering he was about eleven hands short.

Ren, it appeared, didn't feel the same way. He cursed colorfully as the TARDIS jerked into
action, sending him flying against the metal railing. "What are you talking about?" The
human had to shout as the cloister bells roared back to life.

"Space!" Said the Doctor eagerly. "The final frontier, and all that. That's what started it all,
wasn't it? Mystified you as a child. Mystified you as an adult. Tell me, Ren," The TARDIS
shuddered as it slowed down before suddenly slamming to a halt. "Are you still mystified by
it?"

"What's going on?" Rose shouted as she came stumbling into the control room. She was still
wearing that old sweater that hung past her knuckles and was holding a half empty cup of tea.
Fresh brown stains ran up her sleeve and drops of tea continued to drip off the bottom of the
mug. She glanced around the TARDIS, eyes widening as she took in the Doctor standing
almost proudly by the console, the greenish gold light of the TARDIS sharpening his profile.
"Why did we move?"

"To keep a promise." The Doctor answered, eyes remaining on Ren. "So, Captain?" He said
softly. "Are you?"

"Why?" Ren asked instead of answering. The Doctor just raised an eyebrow. Ren looked
almost...scared. Uncertain. At the look on his face, the Doctor merely stepped to the side,
gesturing dramatically towards the TARDIS door. "What's out there?"

"See for yourself."

Ren hesitated. An eternity seemed to pass as they all stared at each other – Rose
questioningly, Ren worriedly, and the Doctor resolutely. Even the TARDIS seemed to have
tuned in to the tense atmosphere between them. They couldn't hear the hum of her heart
anymore.

"Fine." Ren finally said. He took a step forward. It was as if he were walking himself to the
gallows. He passed the Doctor without looking at him, reached the TARDIS door, took a
deep, steadying breath…and pulled the door open.

From where Rose was standing, she couldn't see passed Ren's bulky shoulders, which looked
like they were wound so tightly his spine might just snap. Then, at last, Ren stepped over the
threshold. The door clicked softly shut behind him.

Rose moved quickly to the Doctor's side. "What's out there?" She asked in a quiet voice,
echoing Ren's concern.

The Doctor merely gave her a soft smile and held out his hand. Rose didn't take it, and the
Doctor tried hard not to feel like the world they'd just landed on have been ripped out from
beneath his feet. Rose gave him a quizzical look and then swept passed him out the door,
following Ren.

The man hadn't made it very far. He stood, frozen, just outside the doorway, staring straight
ahead as if he had just seen a ghost. The Doctor carefully closed the door behind him, the
weight of the TARDIS key heavy in his coat pocket, and came to stand between the two
humans.

"How did you know?" Said Ren in little more than an exhale of air.

The Doctor shrugged. "Time Lord." He answered, as if that were an answer at all. Rose shot a
glare at him, clearly not satisfied with that explanation this time, but Ren only had eyes for
the sight before them.

A young girl was playing in the yard of a quaint house, her curly blonde hair flying out
behind her in white wisps as she twirled around on a rope swing hanging from the large oak
tree. Ren took another step forward as if compelled only to freeze at the fence line, watching
the girl, who could be no older than six, spin slowly to a stop, giggling with dizziness. The
swing spun around until her eyes fell on Ren, who immediately tensed as their eyes met. Her
face lit up like a torch. "Daddy!"

She leapt off the swing and ran to the gate, swerving slightly as she was still dizzy from
spinning. The Doctor saw Ren's shoulders finally relax and heard him emit a heartbreaking
sigh of relief. His daughter rushed through the gate and Ren fell to his knees and hugged the
girl to his chest as if his life depended on it. He picked her up and spun her around, his face
vibrant with a joy the Doctor had never seen on him. He was a completely different man,
with his blue eyes and smile, running his hand through his daughter's unruly hair with tears
glistening in his eyes. He heard Rose sniff beside him and looked down to see her discretely
wiping away her own tear at the happy sight. He wished she would smile.

Ren set his daughter down again and beamed at her. "How you doing, Vicky?" He asked with
a hitch in his voice. Victoria laughed.
"I'm dizzy!" She giggled. "Mommy said you were gonna be gone for a long, long time."

"Well I'm back, baby girl. Daddy missed you so much." He hugged her close again as a single
tear escaped down his face. He wiped it away before looking at his daughter again. "Where's
mommy? Is she home?"

Lily nodded, but at that same moment another voice floated across the front yard. "Warren?"

Ren glanced up and sat back, frozen, on his haunches. Before him was the most beautiful
woman he'd ever seen, framed in the doorway with her dirty-blonde hair pulled back in a
messy bun with blue paint splattered across her arms and pant legs, belly bulging with their
child. He stood and slowly made his way over to her. She frowned at him, confused, clearly
not having expected him to be there. "How – "

"I quit." He stated simply. Her frown deepened. She opened her mouth to ask something else,
but Ren quickly interrupted her with a sudden kiss. When they broke apart he smiled. "Screw
NASA. Screw space. First thing in the morning I'm getting a desk job in town, just like
you've been begging me to do. I'm going to sit in traffic, complain about paperwork, be home
in time for dinner, tuck Victoria into bed every night and read her a bedtime story, and then
curl up next to my gorgeous wife and make sure she knows she is the most important thing in
the universe to me, and nothing else is in need of exploring."

He then placed a hand on her swollen stomach. "And I'm going to love this little guy with
every piece of my heart. I'm gonna be here to teach him how to throw a ball and drive a car
–" He cut off suddenly as he cupped her astonished face, pulling it mere millimeters away
from his lips before whispering, "I'm going to be the husband I never was, and you and Vicky
and our son are going to have the family and love you all deserve." And then he was kissing
her deeply, pulling her body against his as she melted into him, her surprise and confusion
quickly replaced by relief and passion and longing.

Vicky stood beside them, holding her father's hand. For them, he'd only been gone for about a
week. For Ren…Now he had the chance to see his little girl grow up the way he'd fantasized
all those ten long years. And he wasn't planning on missing another minute of it.

Rose wiped away another silent tear and cleared her voice.

"I want to go home."

Those five quite words ripped the Doctor in half. Not trusting himself to speak just yet, the
Doctor simply nodded.

"Of course." He said after a moment, not looking down at the yellow and pink human by his
side. Of course. Of course she did. How stupid. How silly of him to think otherwise. Of
course she won't want to travel with him anymore. She should be home. Tea and biscuits.
Beans on toast.

Rose slipped her hand gently into the Doctor, lacing their fingers together and squeezing
reassuringly. "Let's go home."
The Doctor spun his eyes away from the couple, still hugging and kissing across the garden,
to stare at Rose. But she wasn't looking at Ren and his wife. She was gazing up at him, her
tongue sticking out between her teeth slightly as she smiled. So Rose. So very, very Rose. He
smiled back, a little sadly, but it was a smile none-the-less. He squeezed her hand in return.

With one last look at the reunion, Rose guided the Doctor back across the lawn. Back to the
TARDIS. Back home.

THE END
End Notes

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