A/N: Written for the 2017 British Men Of Letters Big Bang on Tumblr. Many thanks to kuwlshadow for her artwork, and to kittycat-cas for beta-ing.

This is chronologically a successor to my previous Physician series and takes part in the same universe. Reading that isn't strictly necessary for following this one, though it does give an introduction to Dr Carter and how she knows commences immediately after the season 12 finale, and will flash back to run in parallel to season 12.

Warnings for violence and torture scenes.

Now

The Hyundai's tires screech as the vehicle careens into the parking garage, missing any one bay and instead coming to a haphazard stop across three. It's lucky not to have outright collided with the wall. Luckier still that it managed to even get this far.

The driver's side door opens and a man stumbles out, hands grasping at the door rim, the concrete pillar beside the car, anything for support as he tries to stay upright. Blood pours down his face, mingling with filthy canal water clinging to his skin. It's coating his clothes, his hair, his hands… The leather inside the car is soaked. Not his - stolen from a parking lot and damn near electrocuting him when he tried to hotwire it with drenched, trembling hands. He can barely think, barely even see as the bullet in his head ignites sparks behind his eyes. His feet stumble on autopilot towards the familiar elevator, hands shaking as he pulls back the grill and falls inside. Thirteenth floor. He just has to make it that far.

It wasn't supposed to be like this. A bullet wasn't supposed to kill him. That hadn't been the plan…

After what feels like an age of an ice pick repeatedly striking his skull, the elevator reaches the floor. Ketch stumbles out, smearing more blood on the walls, dripping on the floor behind him as he pushes on towards apartment 1307. Thank god at this hour the place is deserted. At least he thinks it is. He's not aware enough of anything beyond the pain to tell for sure.

There's going to be hell to pay when he makes it. He's bracing himself for the wrath that's awaiting him and tries to swallow his pride, but an unwelcome sense of guilt sticks in his throat. She'll kill him as soon as help him, he knows. The catch now, of course, is that she can't.

Finally, he makes it, the numbers on the door swimming in front of his eyes. He braces himself against the wall and raps his knuckles against the wood. It sends more waves of pain shooting up his arm, but he can barely distinguish one sensation from another anymore. Please answer.

She won't be sleeping. It's still too early with midnight only just past, unless he's completely misjudged the time. That doesn't exactly seem unlikely.

He's already losing his remaining grip on consciousness by the time he hears the latch turn and the door swings open, bringing into view a pale, narrow face framed by bed-mussed raven hair. She gives him a cold stare, grey eyes widening almost imperceptibly as she takes in the state he's in. For a moment, he thinks she's going to slam the door in his face. Then, "Well, you look like death warmed up. By a candle. In an abattoir."

It doesn't exactly feel better, but he thinks he feels the tightness in his chest ease a little. "Carter…"

It's the only word he manages before he falls forward, unconscious, into her arms.