Risk Factor
The Doctor sat languidly in the red arm chair he had borrowed from Louis XIV, and starred contemplatively at the rhythmical rise and fall of the TARDIS' central console.
Up and down. Down and up. Only occasionally did it deviate from its pattern; as if it had suddenly forgotten just what was going on, and it had to take stock of its surroundings to work it out, before going back to what it was doing originally.
Up and down. Down and up.
The Doctor could feel his eyelids growing heavy. The word 'purple' wondered through his mind, searching for another word to possibly become acquainted with. When it found none, it settled down in a corner and wondered why no other words seemed to be around when it was. Apart from 'dinosaur' of course, but really, who had ever heard of a purple dinosaur? Completely absurd.
The Doctor shifted slightly in his seat, opening his eyes just long enough to see the man in the purple suit standing across the console from him. He closed his eyes again.
At this moment, the word 'purple' got quite agitated, and started jumping up and down, trying desperately to get some recognition.
"Purple," the Doctor muttered, annoyed by the inescapable feeling that the word held more significance than it was letting on.
Then, he remembered the man in the purple suit, standing on the other side of the TARDIS console.
The Doctor shot to his feet, and suddenly, everything went completely dark. He scrabbled at his eyes, hoping that they hadn't fallen out again, like that time on Halon – Z. That, he recalled, had been a bad day, right from the word go.
His finger tips brushed against something felted, and the part of his brain which, up to this point, had been worrying about what was going to happen to Edward and Bella paused just long enough in its fretting to explain quietly to the rest of his brain that they had left the fez on again.
The Doctor pulled the fez off his head and wagged his finger at it.
"Bad fez." Then, he looked up, and once again saw the man in the purple suit watching him, now with a slightly amused expression on his face.
"Hello Doctor.
The Doctor scratched his nose.
"You're in my TARDIS."
"So good of you to finally notice."
"You're in my TARDIS."
"Indeed I am. Don't you want to know who I am?"
"I know who you are. But do you know that you are in my TARDIS?"
The man in the purple suit glowered at the infuriating man opposite him. When he spoke again, his voice was colder than the shoulder Pluto had given to the rest of Earth's solar system when it had been booted out of the club.
"We've established that I am in your TARDIS. We both know that I am in your TARDIS. Now, can we please just take that fact as read?"
The Doctor nodded, and put his fez back on at a jaunty angle. Purple-suit man sighed.
"What in the Universe is that?" The Doctor flashed him his biggest grin.
"It's a fez. Fezzes are cool. As are bow ties. In fact, if you were to look up 'cool' in a dictionary, you would find a picture of a fez and a bow tie. They are things to which all other things are relative, in the context of cool."
"Do you ever shut up?"
"Very rarely, but then everyone else is so boring that I start again. You are being very boring. Who are you?"
Purple-suit man was flabbergasted. That is to say that he hadn't just met a Flabbergast, (a small, constantly shocked shrew-like creature with seven legs) but was in fact struggling to keep up with the Doctor's sudden attitude changes.
"You just said that you know who I am." His anger made him stammer, and therefore not sound very scary. Scary had been the tone he was going for. It wasn't working.
"You obviously don't know what rule one is then." The Doctor sounded stern and headmasterish.
"What's rule one?" The Doctor moved around the console, and fixed his gaze on Purple-suit man. His voice was low and quiet and dangerous.
"Rule one, is that the Doctor lies. I don't know who you are, and frankly, I don't care. I merely have two requests."
"And what might they be?" Purple-suit man sneered. It sounded good; intimidating. He liked it.
"The first is that you get out of my TARDIS. I don't care how, but you are going to leave, right now." His thunderous expression changed to a slightly sunnier one.
"But, before you do that, can you please explain to me; and remember that we are three million light years from the nearest planet, in the centre of deepest darkest space; just what you are doing with that traffic cone?"
Purple-suit man looked down, and saw, to his surprise, that he was leaning on a bright orange Erath traffic cone. He really had no idea what it was doing there.
His mind made a faltering and uneasy connection.
"I was drunk . . ." he said to himself, trying to grasp at the fleeting memory that was already drifting from his grasp. A torturess stinging sensation erupted just below his left ear, and any recollection that had been forming was destroyed.
The Doctor was back on the other side of the TARDIS console, looking at him expectantly.
"Bye then." Purple suit man stood up straight, adjusted his tie, and met the Doctor's rigid gaze.
"I'm afraid I can't leave, Doctor. Not just yet, at any rate."
"Why?"
"Because I am here to challenge you to a battle of wits, guile and intellect."
Purple-suit man was on home territory now; he knew this part off by heart. Once he got to this stage, there was no turning back. The thrill of another great game surged down his spine. He was in his element. He could not loose. He had never lost, and never would. Not even to the gangly, eccentric, fez-wearing, nonsense-spouting Time Lord standing before him. Said Time Lord cocked his head to one side, like an expectant puppy.
"I've changed my mind. I want to know who you are." Purple-suit man smiled slowly; a wolfish grin that was far creepier than it was joyful.
"I'm like you Doctor. A man without a name. A traveller, roaming around all of time and space; entering only fleetingly into the lives of others, but still making such an . . ." He searched for a suitable word. "Impression." He concluded finally.
"So what do people know you as?" The Doctor had lost his air of nonchalance.
"I am the Door Keeper. Rather dramatic I know but, well, why not? Every man's life must have some element of drama, don't you agree?"
"I think I've had my fair share of drama over the years," mused the Doctor.
Suddenly, he seemed to come to a decision, and, clapping his hands together, he squared his shoulders and straightened his fez.
"So, Door Keeper, what is this challenge of which you speak?"
The Door Keeper motioned towards the TARDIS' entrance. The Doctor followed the gesture, his brow furrowing in surprise and confusion.
In the lower area, just inside the TARDIS' door; through the glass of which could be seen the spider's web of stars and suns, blinking and flickering in the distant reaches of space, stood two more doors that he had never seen before. The Door Keeper smiled at his obvious confusion.
"You weren't expecting that, were you Doctor?"
"I suppose that your title should have given it away really," the Doctor reflected, "After all, why would somebody call themselves the Door Keeper, and not take some doors around with them?"
"I was under the impression that you were a genius – with an intellect unmatched throughout time and space." The Doctor shrugged modestly.
"But you'll have to be sharper than that if you want to win. I want your best game."
"In which case, you had better explain the rules." The Doctor's voice was icy cool.
The Door Keeper descended the stairs, so that he was on the same level as the mystery doors. He did not notice that a small section of his jacket sleeve had got caught on the traffic cone, and ripped as he walked away from it. He stood between the doors, looking up at the Doctor, who remained where he was.
"The rules are quite simple. All you have to do is choose one of these two doors, open it and step through. 'Simples', to coin a phrase."
The Doctor rested his elbows on the hand rail.
"I have to say, that doesn't sound all that frivolous."
"That is because I have not explained the risk factor to you yet. A game without risk is pointless – it may as well not exist. Risk is what keeps us alive, Doctor. It lets us get as close to oblivion as we dare, and it is at that moment that we are truly live; that moment when we stare death in the face, but remain just outside its grasp. But then, you would know all about that, wouldn't you Doctor?"
The Doctor walked down the stairs, so that he was once again on eye level with the Door Keeper.
"Name your risk."
The Door Keeper's face was set in quiet superiority. He had him now.
"Behind one of these doors is a relatively small, insubstantial black hole. However, if you were to step into it, your body would be crushed into something smaller than an atom, before exploding and imploding simultaneously. I doubt even a Time Lord could regenerate after that."
The Doctor considered for a moment.
"I hope you don't mind if I don't offer to be your guinea pig." The Door Keeper ignored the comment.
"So all you have to do is choose a door. Either one. Left or right. Take your pick."
"Why should I?" The Doctor's eyes flickered from one door to the other, and back again. "It's just that this game seems to be missing another necessary factor – a reward." The Door Keeper went to answer, but the doctor cut him off. "And please don't insult me by saying that the reward is that I get to keep my life – that's an abhorrent cliqué."
"Oh no Doctor," the Door Keeper's wolfish smirk was back again. "It's much better than that." He dug into his pocket, and pulled out a mobile phone, before tossing it to the Doctor, who caught in deftly.
"Ring the number. I do hope that you can get a signal out here."
Unsure of what to make of this new development, the Doctor fiddled with the phone, and finally heard the ring tone. He held it to his ear, and heard someone pick up at the other end.
"Doctor! Is that you?"
The Door Keeper watched with glee as the Doctor's expression went from confusion to shock and finally to horror. This, the Door Keeper decided, was the best part of the whole charade; the moment when they realised that they had no choice but to comply – they were completely in his power.
"Doctor, please say that's you."
"Calm down Pond. It's me. What's going on?" The Doctor heard unexplainable noises for a few moments, before another voice echoed down the phone.
"Doctor, is that really you?"
"Yes Rory, it is definitely me. Now will you please tell me what has happened to you?"
"We've been kidnapped. I don't know where we are, but . . ." Then Amy was on the line again.
"You had better get us out of here, right now! Doctor, do you hear me? Right now!"
"I'm going to Amy. Just let me think."
"No, Doctor!" Her voice was frantic, and he could just make out Rory in the background.
"There's definitely something else in here Amy . . ."
The Door Keeper took the phone from him. The Doctor tried to snatch it back, failed, and resorted to shouting.
"I'm coming to get you Ponds! I'll get you, I'm coming!" Then, the Door Keeper severed the connection, raising an eyebrow as he did so.
"My my. What a scene we're all causing."
For a second, the Doctor was ready to throttle the other man where he stood, but he resisted.
"Tell me how to get to them."
"You mean you haven't worked it out yet? And what did I say about having your best game?" The Door Keeper tutted.
The Doctor, feeling the anxiety curling down in his stomach, looked back at the two doors.
"Behind one is the black hole – the risk factor, and behind the other are your friends – the reward, as you put it. All you have to do is choose a door. It's really a very simple game."
"It's not a game," the Doctor spoke with venom in his voice, "it's a 50/50 chance."
"Oh no Doctor, it's most definitely a game. You even have an opponent." He paused. "Whichever door you choose, I will go through the other." He stuck his hands in his pockets, revealing as he did so, the gun concealed beneath his purple jacket. "And I would so like to meet your friends." His voice took on an evil edge.
"Choose your door, Doctor."
For five minutes, the Doctor inspected the two doors, and quickly came to the conclusion that they were perfectly identical. Dark brown timber, with a gold handle in the exact centre. The Doctor circled them, tapped them and listened at them. Nothing gave him any clue as to what lay behind which.
"This is no game," he muttered darkly.
"On the contrary, it is the perfect game." The Door Keeper had watched all his endeavours with interest.
"It's plain old luck." The Doctor threw him an acidic glance.
"Then I must be a very lucky man Doctor." The Doctor paused.
"What do you mean?"
"I've played this game twelve times now, and I'm not dead yet."
"But you know which is which."
"Of course I know. But it's never me that decides; it's the one in your position. I simply go through the other door."
"Why?" The Doctor was even angrier now. "Why do all this?"
"Because I'm bored Doctor; so very, very bored!" The Door Keeper's voice had risen to a shout. He thought for a second. "But at least I'm not bored now."
Furious, the Doctor stalked back around the doors twice more before he spotted it. He crouched, examining his find. He checked the other door; he was definitely right. He could feel his hearts, hammering madly against the inside of his ribcage.
"I've made my choice." He stood in front of the left hand door.
"Interesting." The Door Keeper's face and voice portrayed no emotion/ He moved, so that he was standing in front of the right hand door.
"Open your door, and step through, to oblivion, or victory." The Door Keeper scratched the skin under his left ear.
Tentatively, the Doctor placed his hand on the door handle. It was freezing – or was that just his imagination? He shivered, but whether it was from the frigid metal, or the trepidation that had wrapped itself around his throat, he did not know.
The Doctor took a deep breath, and, grasping the handle as tightly as possible, swung the door open. On the other side, it was pitch black. For a second, he expected to be ripped out of the TARDIS and into the heart of the black hole. But, when nothing happened, he pulled out his sonic screwdriver and scanned the inside of the door.
He didn't even see the two figures until they charged past him, nearly sending him flying.
"Well you took your time!" Amy Pond had her hands on her hips, but, before the Doctor had really got his balance back, she threw herself at him, and hugged him tightly. The Doctor peered over her shoulder.
"Hi Rory." The other man was bent double, grasping his sides and panting madly. He raised a hand in greeting, apparently unable to speak.
Amy released the Doctor, who himself was finding it hard to draw air into his lungs.
"Where the hell were we?"
"I don't know. It must have been some sort of . . ." He trailed off, seeing that the Door Keeper was clutching at the side of his neck, just under his left ear. Amy noticed the man in the purple suit for the first time.
"Who the hell is that?" But the Doctor didn't reply, instead, he moved to the Door Keeper's side, concern shaping and softening his features.
Rory, who was now breathing again, slammed the open door shut defiantly. He too then noticed the crippled man, clutching at the right hand door frame.
"Well done Doctor, you won." The Door Keeper's voice was a hoarse, grating whisper, and his face contorted into a mask of agony.
"You don't have to open that door." The Doctor's voice was quiet and sombre.
"But I do Doctor. It's the rules of the game. The rules must be obeyed. I have to go through that door."
A harrowing scream erupted from the Door Keeper's throat, and something thick and black and gaseous exploded from between his clasped fingers. The sound was so feral, so full of fear and pain, that it made Amy grasp for Rory in pure terror. The Doctor covered his ears and toppled backwards. He was too far away to catch the Door Keeper, as he threw himself against the door, which seemed to open of its own accord.
"Hang on!" The Doctor only just had chance to grab onto the TARDIS' handrail, before the influence of the black hole reached him. He grunted, as the invisible force tried to drag him to his death. He twisted his neck just in time to see the Door Keeper disappear into the silent howling darkness. Then, the door was yanked shut, with such force that the whole TARDIS shock violently. And then, everything was calm.
The Doctor, Amy and Rory all crumpled into heaps on the floor. The Doctor raised his hand to brush dark strands of hair from his eyes, and only then did he realise that his fez was gone. It must have been sucked into the black hole.
"Damn," he murmured, clambering to his feet. "That was my favourite fez."
He walked over to a small mound of velvety darkness that was lying on the TARDIS floor in front of the right hand door, and prodded it with his boot.
"What is it?" Amy and Rory were both looking at the thing as well. Kneeling, the Doctor moved his screwdriver along the thing.
"Some sort of parasite." He examined the screwdrivers readout. "It must have taken over his body while he was drunk."
"Then why all this?" Rory gestured at the doors. "I mean, what is all this?"
"It – he – made me play its game. If I chose the right door, you two were safe. If I didn't, we all died. That black hole was his risk factor, ad you two were the reward. He lost on his thirteenth round."
"Unlucky."
"He made it clear that it wasn't about luck." The Doctor stood up and considered for a minute in silence.
"I think that this creature was controlling him; I was playing it, not him. It was its game, not his, and I think he just wanted it to end. He was forced into killing innocent people in a horrific way, just so that this thing could stop being bored."
"Why do you think he wanted to end it?" Rory looked back down at the parasite. The Doctor pointed to the frames on both doors. In the dark, varnished surface of the right hand door, someone had scratched the word 'risk' in minute letters.
"He showed me which door hid the risk factor. He wanted to lose; to die and be free of it all."
"Poor man." Amy hugged herself. "He must have been desperate."
The Doctor dropped the Ponds back at their normal house, so that they could get on with their normal lives. They had invited him in for some tea, but he had declined, saying that he really should get rid of the dead parasite before he forgot about it and it started to smell. He had thrown it into the heart of a supernova at the very furthest edge of the Universe. Then, he had closed the TARDIS door and gone back to his armchair. He missed his fez. But, more than that, he missed the Ponds. Amy and Rory. Mr and Mrs Pond. Seeing them again had made him realise just how lonely he really was.
He curled up in the armchair, and switched on the TARDIS' music system. The soundtrack from The Jungle Book started, and he closed his eyes against the emptiness of the room.
The Doctor awoke with a start. The music was off; the only sound was the constant background hum of the TARDIS engines. The central console went up and down. Down and up.
For a second, the Doctor recalled the whole rotten experience – the Door Keeper, the game, the parasite, Amy and Rory. Then he saw his fez, sitting, impossibly, on the console in front of him. The fez which had been sucked into the black hole.
"A dream?" He said it out loud, to try and make it seem less preposterous. It didn't work, so he tried again.
"How predictable, the classic 'it was a dream' ending. I really must do better." How could all of that have been a mere dream? After several minutes however, the events started to fade from his memory, the way that scenes from dreams do. Becoming more and more convinced that it had really just been a nightmarish dream, the Doctor settled back down in the chair.
He did not see the orange Earth traffic cone, standing hidden in the shadows of the TARDIS console. Nor did he see the scrap of torn purple fabric caught in its top. Blissfully unaware of all of this, the Doctor went back to sleep.