~Part One~

A distress call.

That is after all, what one did while in distress - put out a call, see if anyone in the whole wide universe will answer. Just to see (if on mere chance) an answer would even be forthcoming. To get one out of distress back into...distress-less? Surely that was a word. He'd make sure to have it put in a dictionary.

As soon as he was no longer in distress.

Either way - when one was in dire straits (distress) one would be happy to see anyone - anyone at all, right?

Turns out that assumption is incorrect.

Fascinating how the Universe worked - how it liked to have itself a funny at your expense. He should know.

It happened to him a lot.

DW~TW~DW~TW~DW

"Where will you be going?" Rex grunted - as ever the soul of impatience and nosiness. Was one of the things Jack liked about him, actually. Time would tell if a couple of centuries of living would temper that as only a couple of centuries could.

Amazing what perspectives you get when you have thousands of years to contemplate your navel (and other bits) in.

Come to think of it, a couple of centuries hadn't changed him much.

Ah, well - there was always hope. He didn't think on the rest of that phrase; a little too much life at his own feet and not enough living it here of late.

"Around," Jack responded vaguely. He grinned when Rex's scowl deepened, throwing his coat on with a flourish and a wriggle of his shoulders to set the heavy material in place. "Things are rather quiet here - think I'll just beebop around the old Universe and see what tries to pop out and eat me."

"Not funny," Gwen muttered from the other side of the room. She was still sporting a wrist brace from the last thing that attempted to eat them - and everyone had the good sense to not throw jokes around about squids, octopi and tentacle porn either; damned thing had been all teeth and appendages.

"Sorry, Gwen," Jack said contritely. "I just mean - you know, while you are healing up and with everything quiet on the home front, I should take my vacation now. Never know when I'll get another."

"But...you are coming back - right?"

Her tone, small and slightly wistful had Jack crossing the room in two strides, scooping her into a bone-crushing hug.

"Of course I'll come back," he promised, pressing a kiss to her forehead. "I always do, don't I?"

Gwen didn't answer, just gave him an extra squeeze in return before turning her attention back to her paperwork, deliberately keeping herself from looking at him. Jack stifled a sigh and grabbed his sidearm, holstering it with deft movements that spoke of long practice, understanding her fears even as they irritated him.

After Ianto, nothing was really certain in their world.

He paused at the new Hub door, glancing back at the only two people on Earth he could call friends as well as colleagues. He was only going to be gone a few days their time, maybe five at the most - but he could get behind the need to assure them, to ground them in the certainty of his presence. What else did the three of them have beyond that?

A lot of things had changed since Ianto. Too many things.

"See you guys in a few days."

"Sure, man."

"Have a good vacation, Jack."

He left the Hub with a deliberate quick step, feeling Gwen's eyes follow him until the door rolled closed, cutting him off from sight.

Why did he have a feeling his vacation was going to be cut short?

He took a deep breath and walked into the plaza that sat above their Hub (always with the underground bases!) and toggled his Vortex Manipulator to take him to the Solderian Galaxy. There was an appointment he had to keep with some Klazian Ale - and if there was still a certain bartender working there, he wouldn't be hurting for company after.

"Definitely my idea of a vacation," he said to himself cheerfully and slapped down on the tesser reactor, the only indication he had ever been there at all being a faint crackle and a pervasive smell of ozone.

DW~TW~DW~TW~DW

He hadn't meant to get himself into such a pickle.

Sure, he knew the ground was unstable. And sure he knew there were no other beings (well, living ones, anyway) for miles and miles (and miles) around. And he was completely (positively, undeniably) sure he got the date right. There was suppose to be an expedition (with one Doctor River Song) any minute now - he had double-checked all the figures twice.

Not that he could triple-check them - he couldn't see a bloody thing, truth be told. The ground did this shifty-collapsey thing and well...here he was. She should be along any minute though, wearing a bemused smile and maybe something tight (yet sensible), a contingent of archaeologists behind her -

(With a supressed shudder at the thought)

- all loaded down with lights and tools and...

Any minute now.

He coughed in the thin air, muffling the sound in the crook of his arm so he wouldn't collapse any more of the shale above his head; a lesson well learned when he sneezed earlier and spent five minutes unearthing himself from the resulting fallout. He had also made several attempts to climb out, only to be dumped back into the darkness mere inches up - all handholds disintegrating before they were fully formed. And the sonic was out for all the reasons listed above (and then some). He managed to get one signal going before the rumbling overhead got too ominous and before his screwdriver just...stopped working. He didn't know if the lack of air and the lack of signal from his sonic was connected, but he wasn't going to get much of a chance to find out if he didn't get up top soon.

And all he could do was wait.

A frustrating pass time, considering his TARDIS was literally five feet away from the hole he was in. No way to climb out, no way to call for help - and for some reason, the very air was getting harder to breathe.

'This,' he thought irritably. 'Is why 'going off the radar' can be chalked up as one of my less brilliant ideas.'

Oh well...no hope for it but to settle down, stop that damnable pacing and just wait. River was bound to be along soon - and though he was in for quite a ribbing, it would be worth it just to be able to breathe again. At this rate he was going to have to put himself in suspended animation and what would he do if -

He stopped himself from thinking further along those lines and just concentrated on the idea that (for once) he got the time-lines right and he would be rescued soon. If it wasn't River and her dig-mates, it was bound to be someone answering the (weak) summons from the sonic.

There was always a way out. He just had to wait for his to happen along and give him a lift.

Any minute now.

DW~TW~DW~TW~DW

Well.

Vacations were more boring than he remembered.

It was sad, he reflected, when you got more excitement out of hunting down weevils than you did in a bar chock full of willing and pretty flesh on display, cold drink in your hand. All the elements for fun were there, but the fun was still decidely lacking.

First off there was the bartender (Hans? Handel? Hampstead?) - he was just as gorgeous as Jack remembered, but definitely more vacant and foppish than he had previously thought. He had nothing against vacant and foppish (he himself could be vacant and foppish when the occasion called for it), but it was disappointing that this was pretty much all the lovely (Hamish?) had on offer.

Besides being lovely.

Maybe he wasn't drunk enough.

Or maybe he was just getting too old.

Now therewas something to laugh about.

He took another sip of his drink and let his eyes wander around the bar, vaguely unsettled by the hollow ache in the pit of his stomach (which had nothing to do with the beer, it being quite excellent as always). Was this was homesick was like? Or was he just rediscovering the horror of boredom?

He had lived...well, a long time would be putting it mildly - but he was blessed with the inability (generally) to be bored. There was always something interesting right around the corner - a fight to be fought, a drink to be consumed, banter to be exchanged and willing bodies to bed. But over the last few days, there was just...numbness. Drink couldn't counter it; pretty bartenders with unmemorable names couldn't temper it. His thoughts constantly wandered to home (well, Earth), and when they weren't wandering there, they were falling even farther away and more deeply into the past.

The past that held the Doctor and a box of the bluest-blue that was older than even he could comprehend.

Obviously he hadn't had enough to drink.

He called for (Hemlich? Hamlet? Henry?), to bring him another and grimly set himself to enjoy his vacation, boredom and being old and the past be damned. This was his time off - fuck knows when he'd get another - and he was going to have a good time if it killed him. And at this rate, that would probably be the onlyway he'd have a good time.

"So," he boomed cheerily at the yet-nameless bartender. "You into erotic asphyxia?"

"What?" H-fill-in-the-blank asked, confusion evident on his pretty, vacant face as he slid another cold lager across the counter to Jack's elbow.

"Nothing," Jack smiled, half glad the suggestion sailed over the other man's head. Knowing his luck, H-something-or-other would actually take him up on the offer and succeed in permanently killing him.

Gwen would be pissed.

"Okay," He-Who-Is-Unnamed blinked. "Just let me know if you need anything else."

He actually winkedas he said it and it was all Jack could do to keep from pounding his forehead (repeatedly) against the bar. Completely and totally unreal came to mind. And to think, he had been convinced the guy was cute the last time he rolled through here. Alright, he had been grieving - he hadn't been in his right mind - but that was no excuse.

'The guy with no standards suddenly has standards,' he griped to himself. 'Yippee.'

Damn Ianto anyhow. And no, he wasn't going to think about him; or the asshole in the blue box that ultimately put Ianto in his path - and goddammit he didn't come here to get morbid.

He was definitely getting old.

And was (also definitely), getting bored.

The only interesting thing that had happened in the last two days was his Manipulator giving him shit - in the middle of a vortex, no less. He had been halfway to his destination (generally an eye-blink while traveling), when it let out a spitting, hissing type noise, a series of numbers and complicated figures flipping rapidly across the screen before it blinked back to his destination point, his landing smooth (well, as smooth as it can be with V.M.s) and uneventful; as if the damned thing hadn't tried to crap out on him halfway there.

And of course, crappy faults in manipulators and complicated symbols and mathematics always led to him thinking about the Doctor. And thinking about the Doctor always meant trouble. He was on vacation; he wasn't suppose to be finding trouble unless it meant too many drinks and fists flying.

And damn it all - it took him forever to fix the damned machine after the Doctor (purposefully) broke it. It'd better notbe going belly-up. He'd never get home in five days that way (well, the five days Earth-time from when he'd left). And he didn't think mere time and no machine to travel it in would stop Gwen from killing him.

He worried too much about that lately.

Definitely getting old. And bored. And old.

Vacant-Foppish-and Pretty threw Jack another wink and that clinched it.

'Hell with this - time to go find some real action.' he thought to himself, aggravated all of a sudden.

He slapped enough credits on the bar to cover his drinks and a generous tip, ignoring the surprised disappointment on the bartender's face as he snapped his coat straight and made for the door. Even falling through eternity via a shitty Manipulator was bound to be more interesting than this bullshit.

He took two deep breaths of the (perpetual) night air of Klum Seven and typed in a destination without really looking at what he was doing, his need to escape over-riding the need to know where he was headed.

He'd find out when he got there.

DW~TW~DW~TW~DW

The Doctor really wasn't sure how much time had passed - and being a Time-Lord that was saying something. The air (besides being thick and hard to breathe) seemed to dull his thinking and he had to fight to remember why he was even there at all.

Ah, yes - River...expedition...anytime now.

He had slowed both of his hearts to two beats per minute, trying to lessen his intake of oxygen (what could be found of it) - and needless to say, it hadn't helped his state of awareness. Nor had it aided his need to breathe either. If he had half of his wits about him, he'd've been scared out of his mind; but he didn't do scared.

He was close - but he wasn't there just yet.

'River...expediton...any minute'

He kept the thought circling in his mind, bending all of his determination to it as if he could make it happen with sheer will alone. He had tried to reach out psychically to see if he could touch anything (his TARDIS for one) but he came (astoundingly) across a vast stretch of...Nothing...in his mind - and it chilled him enough to not attempt such a thing again.

As far as he could tell, that had been a few days ago. But it could have been mere hours for all of that - there was no true way for him to tell. Was this how it was for humans and other creatures grounded by the steady monotony of time? If so, he was garnering a new appreciation for their ability to not going barking mad the second they took their first breath.

Breathing.

It was harder to breathe...again.

How many times had he thought this?

He took another shallow sip of air and fumbled for his sonic screwdriver, unable to remember if he had sent a signal or not. He had a vague recollection of hitting setting one and thinking 'SOS' before a warning from the earth above stopped him - but he wasn't really sure if he had done it or dreamed it.

He took (yet another) slow breath, hitting the release on the sonic (while mentally crossing his fingers) only to be dismayed when it didn't respond. Not so much as a click or hint of light. It took all of his vast centuries of control to keep himself from panicking as one clear thought cut through the dense fog of his mind: This was it, he was done for. He had landed really wrong this time. River had either already come and long gone - or was not going to arrive. Maybe (with his luck), not for another century.

He was all too aware of the irony of it - his TARDIS maybe (at the most) fifteen feet from him and yet unreachable; a sonic screwdriver that couldn't work because the power that kept it going (and kept him on track and able to even think) was muffled almost to the point of non-existence; and he was rapidly running out of air. Even stasis wouldn't maintain him if this kept up.

'Maybe,' he thought as he slipped into unconsciousness (for the third, fourth, fifth time?). 'Maybe this is for the best.'

Above him the TARDIS called out softly, endlessly - Her own distress an endless hum against the blank cold of the stars above.

DW~TW~DW~TW~DW

Three destinations and five days (Vortex-Time) later and the restless itch that had settled in Jack's bones hadn't gotten any better. If he was honest with himself (and he rarely was) it had only gotten worse. To the point where he had turned down five offers to fuck and declined numerous drinks sent his way to smooth the path to even more offers.

Hell with getting old.

At this point he was half-way to being dead.

At least his Manipulator was behaving again. It had only thrown up that random series of (half-familiar) squiggles and complicated equations once during his last three hops across Time and that was when he had escaped from Klum Seven to an even more dreary hole-in-the-wall with an even more unmemorable bartender. It had fizzed and popped, that odd assortment of symbols once again flying rapidly across the screen as the Vortex shifted and then stilled all around him, before he was deposited abruptly at his destination; feeling even more unsettled than before.

Somehow, the two events (separate even as they seemed related) nagged at him, leaving him with a hollow, voided feeling that he could only pin down after the fact. It took two more Jumps (both completely uneventful) before he fully realized that the depressed, almost floating feeling that had been tagging at his heels since Klum Seven was even related to the ache inside his bones. His intuition had never guided him wrong - and his intuition told him that the series of fluctuations in his Manipulator were important.

And that the total lack of them during his last two jumps was even more important.

His thoughts turned once more to the Doctor and he almost wished the Time-Lord was there. He would know what those funny symbols meant - he was sure of it; there really wasn't much the Doctor didn't know.

But his longing for the Time-Lord and his blue-blue box of wonder was suppose to be long passed. No matter how much Jack had pushed away the thought of him the last few days, the Doctor kept creeping back in (stronger than ever), turning his musings dark and regretful.

All over a malfunction with his V.M. and a stupid read-out on the screen that meant less than nothing to him.

Still...the notion that the malfunction had happened at all was worrying. And you'd think that the fact it seemed to be fine, to be fully operational with no glitches would put that nagging itch to rest. In truth (after several rounds of systems checks) it only seemed to make it worse. Something was wrong - maybe not with the Universe and Time and Space itself (though he could never be sure on that end), but there was enough not-right within his own little universe, that he couldn't even enjoy what was suppose to be his damned vacation.

"Dammit," he muttered to himself, startling the Verlaxian next to him into a bright shade of green. "No help for it, I guess - better track it down and see what's what."

He nodded his apology to the native of his latest watering hole, relaxing when it turned a lazy shade of blue in response (Verlaxians were no joke when it came to fighting - all those extra arms), and slapped a few credits on the counter; once again turning to leave yet anotherbar with nothing to show for it but fewer credits in his pocket and a belly full of souring beer.

He stepped out into the bustling nightlife of Vernox Temur and searched out a quiet spot where he could do his calculations in relative peace without being disturbed by the local constabulary. He wasn't sure how long it would take - but he now knew there was nothing wrong with his Manipulator and likely there never had been. Maybe he had come across some stray universal flotsam and jetsam that the machine just happened to pick up on (in which case he could go back to drinking in peace) - or maybe (and this was more likely), he had come across something that needed to be seen to over two Jumps ago.

He cursed to himself as he ran another set of checks - wondering why he had never stopped to think about any of this until now, his inability to see beyond 'vacation' making the unsettling lump in his gut commence to rolling unpleasantly. He put everything else (every fear, worry or nightmare-to-be), to one side as he ran another series of tests on the Manipulator, bypassing systems maintenance to run deeper checks within the system recall.

As the odd circles and numbers flashed across his screen (a pattern forming in his mind, even as he couldn't make heads or tails of what it was suppose to be saying), he felt that almost comforting ache for the Doctor and his knowledge; the scent of adventure he carried with him everywhere. He would know what this meant - and he would be the first to chase it, flashing his devil-may-care grin over his shoulder before plunging into pursuit, sure in his hearts that his Companions were (always, always) right behind him.

The most Jack could get from the pattern was that it must be some type of distress beacon. It was a weak signal at best (which would explain why it showed up in transit the first two Jumps and not at all the next two), and tracking it was going to take awhile. He just hoped he could capture it fully and trace it to its source before said source faded out completely. He had a feeling that not finding the source - and soon - would mean bad news for the guy on the other end.

If they weren't dead or dying already.

He'd kick himself for delaying, but that would eat up too much time and concentration. So would wishing and hoping for the one man who wanted to never see his face again if he could help it, distress call or no distress call.

Realizing he was alone and the only hope of the person (or persons) at the other end of what must surely be an SOS, he bent all of his thoughts to the task at hand; ideas of vacation, the Doctor, Gwen and the notion he was chasing so much air and smoke (maybe needlessly) shoved to the side as he put his machine to work.

Time to do what he did best.

DW~TW~DW~TW~DW

The Doctor slowly came around again, stretching his senses into the pervading darkness only to encounter more of the strange Nothing that seemed to be sapping his strength and ability to breathe. He knew that time had passed – perhaps a great lot of time – but he couldn't be exactly sure anymore. Maybe he had always been here – where ever Here was.

The air was worse than before.

He knew there was a sky overhead, there had to be. So therefore air had to be coming in from somewhere above him.

Why was it so hard to breathe?

He checked his hearts and found the right one was down to a beat every three minutes (very dangerous) and the left was struggling to make up for it by beating twice for every minute. This was bad…this was very bad.

If only he could remember what had happened.

He cast back in his memory and came up with only blankness, his last recollection –

He had fallen through a hole, hadn't he?

Or did he just fall through it in his mind?

That was a nasty thought.

But even more worrisome than Where he happened to be at the moment (with the bad air, Nothing beyond the darkness and the distress his body was under), was the Why.

Why was he here?

He could think better if he had something to drink. He would also be able to think if he could stop these damned shivers that jolted him every few seconds. Once he was warm and a little less parched, he could answer the burning questions of the day.

"Susan," he croaked, swiping dry lips with an even drier tongue. "Susan – bring me some water…and a blanket…there's a good girl. Think…I've caught a…touch…of the Pervisian Flu."

He waited a beat and realized he couldn't hear her reply. He also couldn't sense her presence. It had nothing to do with the Void beyond his immediate area and the dark. She...she wasn't here (where ever Here happened to be).

The sense of panic settled into his cold bones at the same moment the numbness of inevitability sank through the fog surrounding his mind.

Did they finally catch them?

They must have. And if they did – if he never made it off of Gallifrey, then –

Was he…was he locked in the Cube?

He suppressed a horrified shiver, the darkness pressing down on him until he couldn't tell if he was standing up or lying down.

In the Cube it didn't matter.

Time didn't matter.

An eternity of waiting, within no time at all.

There was no way out of the Cube (he knew this, somehow) and he couldn't be sure the Citadel Guards wouldn't hurt her, no matter his family's rank. Susan was just a little girl – not even yet 50. She wasn't involved in the Revolt, but if they thought they could use her against him -

"Should have stayed behind, girl," he muttered. "They all…warned…you…didn't they? Doddering old fool…should have known…never escape."

He was too tired and parched to even be able to grieve for whatever horrible fate might befall her, much less call out to whomever happened to be on the other side of his prison . He knew that sleep would be dangerous, he would be off guard when they came to get him – but he was just so exhausted.

He could close his eyes for just a minute…just one little minute. With rest he could formulate a plan to break out of the unbreakable and rescue his granddaughter – the only one left in all of his world that loved him back with the fierceness that he loved her. He would save her. He would get her home.

Maybe then he would be forgiven.

He slipped back into a fitful sleep, unable to hear the TARDIS as She called endlessly above him, as empty without Her Doctor as he was lost without Her. If things went as She had planned, help would be on the way. But even a machine such as Herself, with all of Time and Space under Her ever watchful eyes, couldn't see if it would be enough.

DW~TW~DW~TW~DW

Two more days of Jumps (too numerous to keep track of) and all of it (seemingly) for nothing. In the end, he was just chasing his tail; a tireless loop up and down and around the signal, never getting any closer – though he had to thank the gods that he always seemed somewhatin range of the transmission. He just couldn't pin it down and home in on it.

And he was getting tired.

He was going to be pissed if all of this was over a child's toy gone wonky or something equally silly. It had happened before – a very, verylong time ago – but it had happened. If he got drawn in twice like that he would have to call it quits on the rescue business.

"Maybe take up knitting," he muttered distractedly to himself. "I hear knitting is nice and relaxing."

He toggled the strange symbols into being again and frowned distractedly at them, wondering for the five thousandth time at the almost familiar design of them. He had been to many places, many time-streams and had seen numerous wonders – but this set of squiggles and circular lines was unique, not only in pattern but in the precision of that pattern. This could only be a language – and one that he had encountered before, though oddly enough his Manipulator couldn't seem to translate it. It was almost as if the V.M. didn't recognize it as a language. Shoot, the blasted thing didn't even recognize the funny pattern as a pattern- much less a distress call (which he knew it had to be).

"Unless I'm just old and bored and imagining things," he sighed, plunking himself down on a handy bench near his latest Jump Point. "That certainly wouldn't be a first, either."

He scrubbed his hands through his hair, frustrated and beyond tired – at the end of his rope. He could keep searching in fruitless circles…or he could call for help. The bad thing was, there was only one person he could call for help and he had already done so once, receiving no answer. Not even an answering machine.

"Way to make a guy feel loved." Jack groused, but punched up the number for the second time in two days, sure he was going to only get more of the same.

Nothing.

Which was very much what he did get – nothing. Not even a dial tone.

"Huh."

He knew the Doctor wasn't fond of him after his…mishap – but the Old Girl never had a problem with him. Had put him through a couple of times as a matter of fact; even had gone so far as to lead Jack straight to them. If Shewasn't answering –

It hit him then.

The funny squiggles and number sequences. They weren't random. They were a language and yet they weren't. What was it the Doctor called Gallifreyian? The 'base code' of the Universe?

The chills Jack felt certainly weren't from the night air (though it was quite crisp and refreshingly autumnal); he had just figured out where that signal was coming from and he had a nasty feeling to what it just might lead to. The Captain could deal with a lot of things. He had seen friends and loved ones die – he had put some of those friends and loved ones deliberately in the path of their deaths – but he couldn't see this.

If this was truly the end of the Doctor…

He felt another chill as memory (that ever elusive and nasty-tempered mistress) provided him with another fragment of his time – a while back, after he had just lost Ianto and was grieving the only way he knew how. He had seen him- and the look in his eyes –

No, he had to be wrong.

Jack had already launched to his feet, rerouting the signal and setting the number for the TARDIS in parallel to it, comparing and collating the patterns to see if he could get a clearer path, half-hoping he was wrong; that he was just jumping to conclusions. Too much of a coincidence – thinking of the Doctor and the signal leading straight to the same man.

'Maybe,' his brain supplied treacherously. 'You were on the right path all along – but just chose to ignore it.'

"Shut up," he muttered, not realizing he was imitating the Doctor almost perfectly as his fingers flew over the V.M.'s buttons. "I'm busy."

His heart sank as the Manipulator beeped once, twice – confirming what his heart had already known. The signal matched the TARDIS'. Not only were the two 'patterns' close in location (time and space-wise), they were also a perfect match in resonance. There was only the slightest difference between them – which could only mean that the sonic (such a part of the TARDIS Herself any signal from it could be mistaken as coming from Her), was not too far from it. The TARDIS might be boosting the SOS, though – which would only make it harder to track the Doctor and his screw-driver, unless he could separate back out the pattern and home in on it once he was close.

If he could even get close that was.

The signal was only getting weaker – two more Jumps and he might lose it altogether – even with a recording of the TARDIS' number to bounce off of. There was just too much Universe to wade through. All he could hope was that the 'circle' he had been chasing was truly a circle after all – that he might find what he was looking for in the middle of it all.

It was a chance worth taking – it might be the Doctor's only chance.

'Unless you are too late.'

"Can't think like that," he said to himself quietly. "Where there is life there is hope. He taught me that – have to remember it. Just…please be alive, Doctor."

The alien might not be too happy to see his rescuer – but if it meant the Doctor came out of this alive and in one piece, Jack could live with the Time-Lord's displeasure. There was no question in his mind that the Doctor was in trouble, though…after all, he isthe Doctor.

Crossing his fingers, Jack set the V.M. for his next Jump.

DW~TW~DW~TW~DW

It was dark (so very, very dark) down here and so very, very hard to breathe-

He could feel himself panicking, losing control over his rational thought; even as he remembered his father had always cautioned against such things.

'Use your fear, Theta…don't let it use you. Never run when you are scared and never panic when you are lost. It only leads to worse situations.'

But Papa (he was sure) had never been in a place so dark, so lonely and hard to breathe in.

He stretched his senses (still tingling and new), and found nothing – less than that, even.

There was...

Nothing.

He tried to keep the panic at bay, to hold tight to those wise words; but he found his right heart was beating only once every few minutes and his left heart was slowing, too. He didn't know why (how) – but he knew that this was dangerous; he knew that it was Death, even for those who could live for a long, long time. And he hadn't even regenerated once yet – he might not regenerate at all. He heard the whispers when no one thought he was listening, he heard the fears (about him, of him) and he knew what they meant…especially if he died here, wherever here was.

'Please don't leave me here.'

Did he fall down the old mine-shaft at the estate?

He must have – there was no other explanation. He disobeyed Papa (again) and now, he was lost in the old shaft that was rumored to be haunted. Koschei had told him that and if anyone would know, he would; he could always sense such things.

Too bad he was wrong about this one. A place had to have Something to be haunted and there was Nothing.

Koschei.

He would know what to do.

He was bound to be close by. He was Theta's brother, his best friend (and equal at finding unbridled mischief). If he could reach Koschei –

Theta tried to call out, but found to his horror his throat was too dry, airless (for some reason) and he was left in the dark without a voice. Panic tried to take over his mind again, but he fought it off as best he could – his father's smooth, deep tones ringing as clear in his head as if the ancient Time-Lord was standing right beside him.

After several controlled (gasping, sipping) breaths, he plotted out what he knew: He was in a deep, dark hole; he couldn't seem to climb out (he had a vague recollection of trying, though that was faded and dull around the middle), and Koschei was nowhere nearby (that he could feel).

He could only hope this meant that his friend had gone for help – because if Koschei was here after all…with him-

He didn't know if the fading of his consciousness was due to fear for his friend, or if it was caused by the lack of oxygen. Either way, he was half-grateful when the darkness of his mind rose up to erase the darkness he was lost in.

Papa would have been disappointed.

He had no time to wonder what Koschei would think as he fell into the black, his body struggling to maintain him, even as his hearts slowed another few beats.

Theta Sigma was dying.