Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who.
Illumination
Chapter One: Hitting the Wall
Chyt'lok smiled as he prepared the final sequence that would eliminate the entire water supply of the colony below. 'Peaceful settlers'. Bah. Weaklings was more like it.
He had plans for that planet, and he had no patience to watch them slowly evacuate. And then they had sent him a message saying they had no intention of leaving. Well, this would put and end to their insolence.
Why couldn't these people understand? He was a messenger of the mighty C'thah. It wasn't his choice, but the when the almighty needed something done, he was His emissary, His messenger, His…
What was that noise?
A horrible grinding noise that echoed all around the dark chamber that was his control centre. The wind that kicked up forced him to pull his hood closer over his pale yellow skinned head. He hated the cold. Frustrated, Chyt'lok looked around, unable to locate the source of the sound.
Then, looking to the other side of the floating circular control panel that sat in the middle of the chamber, he saw it. A blue box, fading into existence from nothingness. White light blared out from the top of the box, and Chyt'lok brought up a clawed hand to shield his sensitive eyes.
With a low thud, the grinding stopped. The door opened, creaking as it went.
And then, there he was.
Pointing in abject rage, Chyt'lok bellowed, "You!"
"Yes, me, hello," the Doctor replied, sauntering in like there was nothing to fear. He was carrying a rustling white bag made of a material Chyt'lok couldn't place.
"You should be dead!"
"You know, I've heard that so many times before it's just white noise now."
Squaring his shoulders, Chyt'lok looked down at the intruder. "You cannot stop me. The process is almost complete."
"Ah, yes, well," the Doctor said quickly, putting a finger in the air. "You say I can't stop you, and ordinarily, I would agree with you. You're bigger than me, so not much chance of beating you in thumb-wrestling, and more importantly, I didn't recognise your technology or species. At first. Then I did some research and popped to Tesco's to pick up some stuff."
He lifted the rustling bag and jiggled it about, emphasising the red lettering printed on it.
"Other supermarkets are available," he mumbled, diving a hand into the bag.
Chyt'lok didn't bother to brace himself. This prattling moron hadn't shown himself to be physically adept in any way in their previous two encounters. Quite the opposite, in fact. His limbs always seemed to at odds with what his brain wanted them to do.
Quickly, and with a look of satisfaction that indicated Chyt'lok should be frightened, the Doctor pulled out a bottle of white liquid and a solid cube of… something yellow, a slightly darker hue than his own skin.
"Am I supposed to be impressed or scared?"
"Well, that depends on whether you know what I've got," the Doctor replied, sounding very pleased with himself.
Chyt'lok didn't reply. He just raised his eyebrows expectantly.
Clearing his throat, the Doctor seemed ready to launch into a speech. But then his blue box made another groaning noise, and, with a look of genuine surprise, the Doctor looked back.
"What? Now?"
The box groaned again, and the Doctor glared back at it.
"Oh, so I'll just skip the speech about how brilliant I am, shall I? You know that's the best part of my day. Blimey…" Looking incredibly irritated, he turned his attention back to Chyt'lok before rolling his eyes. "I did some research, found out that lactose is poisonous to your species, I've got some milk and cheese, stop your plan, or I'll melt you."
What little colour Chyt'lok had in his cheeks drained away. "You're bluffing."
"I'm not, and my TARDIS is leaving without me, so quickly please, yes or no!"
Clenching his jaw, Chyt'lok charged at the Doctor and roared, "NEVER!"
The Doctor sighed. "Fine."
He unscrewed the blue lid on the bottle and tossed the white liquid over Chyt'lok. The searing pain hit him across his legs. They melted away beneath him in the space of a few moments, and he fell to the floor, screaming.
"Oh, calm down, they'll grow back in a month." He put the lid back on the bottle and gently placed it down beside the doors of his blue box. "Waste not, want not, that's worth ten cups of tea."
Paralysed by the pain, Chyt'lok could only watch as the Doctor tossed the yellow brick into the air and caught it, a hand in his pocket as he walked over to the control panel into the middle of the room.
"Now to do to your systems what Rory did to the console-" He caught himself mid-sentence, and in a split second, the strength seemed to drain from his body. He sighed, and, with none of the vigour he had displayed in their previous encounters, he unwrapped the yellow block from its see-through protective covering.
Holding it in his hand, he crushed it, crumbling the chunks all over the control panel. Then, with a violent movement that, even in his shocked state, surprised Chyt'lok, the Doctor slammed his fist down, mashing the majority of the substance into the control panel.
A horrible whine built up from the panel, and, as the Doctor wearily trudged back to his box, sparks flew. The chain reaction built until explosions began to litter the panel, eventually spreading to the rest of the chamber.
The Doctor stood over him for a moment, and then squatted down beside him. "Don't try this again, please. I'm getting tired of dealing with these things."
He moved in closer to Chyt'lok.
"They're losing their lustre," he growled, his voice darkening along with his features.
Chyt'lok felt a deadly fear gripping him as the Doctor slowly stood up, picked up his bottle of toxic liquid, and walked into the box. He slammed the door behind him.
The loud groaning noise from the Doctor's vessel merged with the explosions growing around Chyt'lok. Relief flooded through him as the box faded from sight. He had seen many terrible things in his life. Done horrible deeds in the service of his almighty Lord.
But there was something in the Doctor's eyes when he had spoken to him. Something full of pain and rage.
And it was something he never wanted to see again.
The milk bottle felt much heavier than it should have. He opened up the fridge Amy insisted they put under the stairs that led up to the TARDIS console and popped the milk inside. He did his best to ignore the half-eaten yoghurt Rory had left there before heading out to their Central Park picnic.
Because of the state of temporal grace in which the inside of the TARDIS existed, the fridge preserved things pretty much forever. Didn't stop bullets, but excellent for keeping yoghurt from turning.
Unfortunately, it also meant that the Doctor had a constant reminder of his missing friends living underneath the TARDIS console. Whatever, he could deal with it. He had dealt with it before. Didn't feel different this time at all.
Nope. Not a bit.
He sighed and jogged up the steps to the console, hoping it would give him some more energy.
It didn't work.
"All right then, what's all this 'leaving without me' business?" he asked, doing his best 'scolding parent' impression. He felt dirty just attempting it. "And where are you taking me, anyway?"
The Doctor attempted to look at the destination screen suspended above his head, but found the text distressingly blurry. Hesitantly, he reached into his jacket pocket and fished out the one reminder of Amy he constantly had on him. He delicately slipped on the glasses, squinting as his eyes adjusted.
He sighed. In the space of a couple hundred years, he'd gone from wearing brainy specs to look clever to actually needing glasses. Getting old was horrible.
Switching his mind to more immediate matters, the Doctor focused on what the screen was telling him.
"The 51st century? Why are we going there?" He glared at the time rotor. "Is this River? This reeks of River. Not that River reeks. I actually think she smells quite nice. Like lavender and strawberries…"
As was the norm with him, he drifted off into other, more pleasant memories before blinking and snapping himself back to reality.
"No, not River. She would have somehow sent a message blaring across all of time and space saying 'Hello sweetie'. And even she doesn't have the knowledge to pull you across time and space."
He put his hands on his hips, feeling huffy. "And incidentally, when did you start taking me places? Honestly, this sort of behaviour completely shatters the illusion of independence you've been building up around me for the past… thousand-ish years."
There was no reply. Not that he was expecting one. But sometimes he really, really, hoped. The Doctor removed his glasses, and, with lead in his boots, strolled over to the chair beside the console and collapsed into it.
"I don't want to go to the 51st century," he said quietly, rubbing his eyes with the glasses folded up in his hands. He sighed. "I don't want to go anywhere…"
With a faint smile, he looked up at the churning time rotor. "Maybe that's what this is all about, eh? Taking me on another adventure to wake me up. But I've been trying, old girl, I really have. I just don't… feel it anymore."
Unable to resist the mystery, the Doctor groaned, slipped on his glasses and sprang up from the chair. He checked the co-ordinates again, and then moved on to the navigation instruments, fiddling with odd levers and buttons.
"That has to be it, doesn't it? This is you cheering me up. I mean, the only other instances of you taking me places were…"
He froze, and stared up at the screen again.
"…Time Lord-y things…"
The TARDIS landed, and he clung on to the console as the room jolted around him. He checked the scanner, taking a breathless look outside.
A corridor. Of course it was a corridor. This was him. Where else would he land but a corridor? That way he could literally hit the ground running. But, crucially, it didn't look like a Time Lord corridor. No roundels, no people in robes and funny hats. Just a grey, metallic corridor.
Maybe the TARDIS had made a mistake. Maybe there was something else here. A surprise birthday party thrown by River. Yes, that's it. So she didn't know when his birthday was, so what? That wouldn't stop a girl like River. She had colluded with the TARDIS to get him here. Yes, he was convinced.
So really, he should just let go of the console and head out into the unknown. Like he always did. As he had always done.
Yep. Just… step out the door.
Easy.
With a frustrated groan, the Doctor pushed off from the console and stormed to the doors.
"This had better be important," he warned, pointing an accusing finger back at the time rotor.
The Doctor yanked open the doors and poked his head out. He sighed. The TARDIS had managed to materialise with the doorway pressed against the corridor wall. Slipping his glasses back into his jacket pocket, the Doctor awkwardly fumbled his way out, squashing his face against the cool metal as he shuffled along.
Finally, he ejected out into the corridor, stumbling along with arms flailing before managing to come to a halt. He shook his head, letting his cheeks wobble about a bit before straightening the lapels of his jacket and taking in his surroundings.
So. A corridor. Big metal corridor. Hello, corridor. How are you today?
There was a low level hum all around him. Dropping down, the Doctor pressed his ear to the floor. Engines. So, a corridor in a ship. Lovely.
With a spring in his step he wasn't really feeling, the Doctor jumped to his feet and dusted off his hands before deciding on a direction. Whirling on the spot with a finger pointing, the Doctor span a couple of times before finally coming to face the TARDIS again. And he was honestly very tempted to just step back inside and leave… whatever this ship was behind.
After a moment of indecision, he decided on the opposite direction. If he took the TARDIS away now, he'd never hear the end of it. And, considering the TARDIS couldn't verbalise its annoyance, it would find other more troubling ways to make its displeasure known.
He set off, walking at a leisurely pace and idly inspecting the random bits of machinery and cabling that ran along the walls and ceiling. The Doctor quietly whistled a vague tune he couldn't quite remember as he ran the tips of his fingers along one of the thick power cables. Not a hint of dust. Well maintained, wonderfully lit, sleek, organised…
Whoever ran this ship had to be stopped.
Reaching the end of the corridor, the Doctor was left at a crossroads. Left, or right? There was a door in front of him, but he was wary of setting off any alarms.
He frowned. Hang on, what?
With an amused snort, he pressed the button beside the door. Within a couple of seconds, the door opened, revealing a lift. It also revealed two armed soldiers, rifles pointed directly at his head. One was a tall woman with a sturdy jaw line and shoulder-length brown hair pulled back in a tight ponytail. The other was big, bald, and had a small circular tattoo imprinted on the side of his head, above his right ear.
The Doctor smiled, like he was meeting guests at a party. "Hello! Lovely to meet you. Thought I was on a ghost ship for a minute there, which is a very real possibility with me. Not as scary as you imagine they would be. Usually they just died thinking about some horrible stain they left in the kitchen and can't bear to leave until it's gone. Clean it up, and off they go."
They glanced at each other, and after an almost imperceptible nod, they lowered their guns. With a cowboy drawl, the woman said, "We've been expectin' you."
He blinked, surprised. "Yes! Right. Of course you… have? Sorry, I'm not used to people recognising me these days. I'm not the celebrity I used to be. I'm the Doctor."
"Yeah, I know. But, uh, no-one seems to know this: Doctor what?"
"Ah, yes, well, that's…" He frowned. "Actually, that's not the question I'm used to. 'Doctor What' just sounds disappointing. Honestly," he scolded, shaking his head at the confused guard.
Evidently at a loss for words (the Doctor always enjoyed that reaction), the woman brought up her wrist communicator and spoke into it.
"Colonel, this is Michelle. I'm with Tim. Got the intruder down here with the… box. It's the Doctor."
"A Doctor?"
The Time Lord tutted and rolled his eyes. "No, the Doctor. I've got it on good authority that I'm the definitive article."
Everybody was quiet for a moment.
"Is that him?"
Michelle nodded. "Uh, yeah. Sir. What would you like us to do with him?"
"Don't know… not sure if I like him yet."
"Sir?"
"Is he armed?"
"Well, the automatic security scan when he stepped out of his… box… says no."
"Okay. Scan him over manually. If he's clean, bring him to the bridge. Professor's lookin' forward to meetin' him."
"Yes, sir."
There was an audible sigh from the other side. "Michelle?"
"Sir?"
"You know we're the same rank, right?"
"…yes, sir."
"And yet you're calling me sir."
"Yes, s… uh, John."
"Better."
With that, John cut the radio. The Doctor smiled. He was willing to venture the opinion that he would like John. Even if he was in the military.
Perturbed, Michelle gestured with her rifle for the Doctor to get in the lift. He did so, but was abruptly stopped by Tim's rifle shoved in his face.
"Hands in the air," he rumbled, his voice practically sending vibrations through the floor.
"Yes, of course," the Doctor replied absent-mindedly, his eyes studying the lift as he entered with hands raised. The doors closed behind them, but they didn't go anywhere. He was sort of preoccupied with the thought that somebody was expecting him. People didn't really expect him anymore.
He watched with idle curiosity as Michelle pulled out a small red device the size and shape of his old blue sonic screwdriver and, after pressing a button with his thumb, ran it up and down the Doctor's body. There was a low crackle like a Geiger counter as it moved up and down. There was a squeal when it reached the part of his jacket where his sonic screwdriver was tucked away.
Tim's heavy grip latched onto his shoulders, physically lifting him off the ground while Michelle went through his pockets.
"Oh, now, this isn't necessary, it's just my sonic screwdriver," he managed, his voice ever so slightly strangled by being held in the air in such an awkward way.
"So it is," Michelle replied, pulling out the offending device and showing it to Tim.
The Doctor looked down at Tim with a smile that asked 'Satisfied?' without him even having to speak. Though he didn't seem pleased, Tim was evidently satisfied, as he immediately let the Doctor's feet touch the floor again.
Huffily snatching the screwdriver from Michelle, the Doctor flicked it on and waved it around in Tim's face.
"And people think I'm rude," he muttered, glaring up at Tim's blank eyes.
With the barest hint of a smile, Michelle punched the lift controls with the side of her fist. There was the barest of jolts as the lift ascended. The Doctor barely had time to put his screwdriver away before they came to a halt.
As the doors opened, the Doctor, hands behind his back, glanced between his two guards.
"May I ask, actually, where am I?"
Both Michelle and Tim frowned at him incredulously, the former nodding for him to walk ahead of them onto the bridge. It was a pretty cramped room for a command centre. Low ceilings, a narrow viewport at the front barely giving any idea of the magnificence of space outside… bit of a waste, really. But then, he only had two narrow doors and an old Magpie TV to show him what was outside, so the Doctor couldn't really talk.
"How the hell did you get on this ship and not know where you were?" Michelle asked.
"Bad eyes," he replied. "Only found out recently that I need glasses. Can you believe it? Me, actually needing glasses. Imagine."
"Well, I don't know you, so… yeah, I can imagine."
Suddenly the Doctor felt quite lonely. "Fair enough." He cleared his throat, wiggled his shoulders about and got back to business. "But I feel we've strayed a little from the point here, which happens a lot to me, believe it or not. So, yeah, where am I?"
A man with a lazy walk, white hair and arms like tree-trunks answered his question. "You're on the Chronos. Private ship, owned by Professor Evan Locke, that happy gent over there."
He turned on the spot and pointed a finger at a man sat in a hovering chair. There was a slew of equipment attached to the back that seemed to link via half a dozen or so tubes into the man's chest. He was involved in a conversation with a young girl who had her back to the Doctor - they seemed to be discussing something that was on an interactive pad.
"And you're John," the Doctor asked unsurely, pointing a cautious finger at the hulk in front of him.
"Johnny, please," he replied, snatching the Doctor's outstretched hand and giving it a solid pump.
"Pleased to meet you, Johnny. I'm the Doctor."
"Yeah, I heard." Wincing as if he felt rude bringing it up, Johnny leant forward with arms folded. "Okay, sorry to say this, but… this is kind of my ship, and you are trespassing a little bit… I mean, reputation aside, it's kind of rude."
The Doctor sighed. "Yes, sorry, I do that. My ship has a mind of its own sometimes. I'm sure you can relate."
"That I can."
Smiling, the Doctor rocked back and forth on his heels. "Now, see, this is lovely. Why can't all encounters I have with the military be like this?"
This gave Johnny pause, and he looked at the Doctor askance. "You… 'encounter' the military often?"
Raising a finger, the Doctor struggled with a regrettable case of word salad for a moment. "Well, yes, I can see how that could sound bad, but I, that is, you, um… so, Professor Evan Locke, looks delightful, I'll go and say hello, shall I?"
Whirling around Johnny like an expert dancer, the Doctor glided across the bridge before sliding to a halt between the Professor and his assistant. The assistant, a girl with chin length blonde hair, let out a little yelp. The Doctor, alarmed, checked behind him.
"What, what is it?"
The girl patted her chest. "Nothing, sorry, God… you just startled me."
"Ah, yes, sorry, I do have a habit of appearing out of nowhere sometimes. I'm the Doctor, you are?"
"Uh…" She looked first at his hand, and then over to Johnny, then Professor Locke. Evidently getting approval from both, she cautiously took his hand and shook it. "Vicky."
"Vicky, lovely. I used to have a friend called Victoria. Lovely girl, screamed a lot."
"… I see."
"She's fine now, though. She's living with her family. Sort of."
Smiling happily, the Doctor moved onto Professor Locke, who was staring up at him with a fascinated look, as though he were beholding some marvellous exhibit. Not that the Doctor could blame him. He did make a bit of a show of himself sometimes.
"Hello, I'm the Doctor."
With a little cough, Professor Locke brought up his hand and shook the Doctor's. "And I'm the Professor."
"Yes, I heard, a man of education! Big fan of education. Well done!" Ducking down, the Doctor took a closer look at the equipment attached to the back of Locke's chair. He didn't need to put on his glasses to get an idea of how it worked. "Life support, eh? What's the problem? I'm a Doctor, you know."
"Well, I am veryold."
The Doctor snorted a laugh. " Of course you are. Bless," he said amusedly, looking at Vicky to share the humour.
And, once again, he was reminded that he was by himself when it came to inside jokes, and his smile disappeared. "Right, that was horrible. Yes, of course you're old. Sorry, I have a very… inappropriate sense of humour. I laugh at people slipping on banana peels and hitting each other on the head with frying pans… disgusting."
He shuddered theatrically before blinking and turning his attention to Locke. "So, looking at the equipment, I'm guessing not for old age, so what is the problem?"
The Professor shook his head good-naturedly. "Not something that can be helped, I'm afraid. I've got what's called 'the Devil's Pull'."
This dampened the Doctor's mood somewhat. He knew the disease. It was a by-product of exposure to creatures that had waged a war against the rest of the universe in the early 51st century. There were many names for them, but most settled for calling them 'The Most Horrible Creatures Imaginable'. Not exactly catchy, but it was certainly accurate.
Suddenly sombre, the Doctor quietly said, "I'm sorry."
"Can't be helped," Locke dismissed, waving his hand. "Caught it after the war with those… creatures. I've long since learned to live with it. And I make up for it by travelling through time and space, learning and even helping where I can. Hence the name of the ship. Chronos. The god of time."
Caught off-guard, the Doctor frowned. "A god of time travelling around exploring and helping, I've heard that one somewhere before… Though I can't help but notice you've got armed help."
"Yes, well… you never know what you're going to come up against."
"But still," he squirmed. "Guns. Never really necessary, are they?"
Johnny cleared his throat from the other side of the bridge. "Not sure I agree with that."
"I'm just saying," the Doctor said with finality, "they're not necessary." He smiled. "In my opinion."
Looking unimpressed, Johnny wandered back to his chair and sat down, though the Doctor was still aware that he was keeping an eye on him as he spoke to the Professor.
"So. You were… expecting me?"
"That I was."
"And how do you know me, exactly?"
The Professor smiled, punching something into an idle monitor beside him. "You don't travel in time and space without coming across some stories about the Doctor. Besides which, we've got records."
Peering over with glasses perched on his nose, the Doctor frowned. A record of him. A record the Doctor distinctly remembered erasing. "You shouldn't have that."
"Well, it's my computer, so…"
"No, I mean… all records of me are gone. I saw to that."
"Well," Vicky ventured, clearing her throat, "we're… outside of time most of the… time. We must have missed the, uh… erasure in the shuffle."
The Doctor nodded. "Yes, that makes sense," he said, pulling out the sonic screwdriver and aiming it at the screen. Pressing the button, he transmitted the audio-virus he had specially prepared for any computers that had somehow missed his mass deleting spree.
The record of him promptly winked out before the Professor's amazed eyes.
"There," the Doctor smiled, slipping away the screwdriver, "all done."
"You-" Tapping away on the computer, Locke was shortly joined by Vicky, who attempted to help. They both came away stumped. "You're gone."
"That's the idea," he muttered, taking off his glasses. "So! You were expecting me. And this is sort of the middle of nowhere, seems a little boring to go to all the trouble of yanking my TARDIS across time and space."
"You have a TARDIS?" Locke marvelled. "I've never even seen a TARDIS, inside or out… that's the box down in the corridor, isn't it?"
"You're not getting in."
"No," the Professor sighed, "of course not. That's not what I'm interested in."
"…you're not?"
"Well, yes, I am, but you're notoriously protective of it. And I'm not stupid. You'll have booby-traps and defence mechanisms all over the place if I force you."
The Doctor tried not to show how good an idea that was and how irritated he was that he hadn't thought of it first. "Yes… lots of… booby-traps and defences, and… temporal grace… things." He blinked, snapping himself out of it. "But! We're swerving very dangerously off the road, so, I'm here, you were expecting me, why and how, please."
Locke smiled, seemingly amused at his verbal swerving. "The 'why' is down below in the cargo bay. The 'how' wasn't anything to do with us."
Adjusting the controls on the armrest of his chair, Locke floated across the bridge to a series of monitors. Hands behind his back, the Doctor sauntered over, his ever-present curiosity keeping his eyes locked on the screens. They displayed an image of what looked like a cargo bay, with a man with small glasses inspecting the object in the middle of the bay. The Doctor slipped on his own glasses to get a better look. And he instantly wished he hadn't.
"Found it drifting in space, emitting low level temporal distortions. Not sure what it is," Locke said, "but it seems distinctly… Time Lord, don't you think?"
The Doctor had his eyes locked on the monitor for a good ten seconds before he realised that Locke had finished speaking. Wary, he turned his head to look at the good Professor. He had a hungry look in his eyes that the Doctor found disconcerting.
"You recognise it, don't you?"
"Looks like refuse to me. And I'm not very knowledgeable about such things. About anything, really. Stupid old Doctor, that's me. Surviving on luck and… smarter people to help me. I mean I was, effectively a Time Lord… bin man, so, I wouldn't know much of anything, as you can imagine. But, in my capacity as a bin man, it's clear that that is rubbish. Personally? I'd jettison it back into space. And then, just to remove its - quite frankly, offensive - uselessness from the universe, I'd blow it up, dump it in the sun, whatever. Just so long as you've destroyed it." He paused, aware that he was getting threateningly intense. He reigned it back a little, adding, quietly, "For being useless."
Slowly smiling, Locke, keeping his eyes on the Doctor, called out, "John, take the Doctor down to the cargo bay."
Jumping up out of his chair, Johnny put a hand in the air. "Not sure if that's a good idea-"
"I agree," the Doctor chipped in.
"He knows what it is. We haven't been able to open it." Locke looked him up and down. "See if he can."
Both Johnny and the Doctor glared at Locke, then looked at each other reluctantly. They shrugged simultaneously, and the Doctor was relieved that he could feel some amusement at that shared gesture.
Johnny nodded to Michelle and Tim, who came over and stood on either side of the Doctor. Slowly taking off his glasses, the Doctor looked down at Locke.
"Please," he asked solemnly. "That thing down there is a relic. A very, very bad one."
"What is it?" Locke asked, captivated. "What's inside?"
"I don't know."
There was a long moment where all that could be heard was the hum of the engines as Locke studied the Doctor, staring into his eyes in the same way the Doctor did when he was trying to get an idea of what someone else was thinking. The Doctor just stared right back, making his expression as blank as possible.
"Take him down to the cargo bay," Locke ordered slowly.
A heavy hand landed on his shoulder, and the Doctor sighed.
"All right, Tim, I'm going. No need for any of that."
"Quite," he said, the rumble of his voice moving through his hand and into the Doctor's shoulder.
The Doctor shrugged off the giant hand and walked to the lift, flanked by Michelle and Tim. Before the door closed, the last thing he noticed was Locke's smile, a disturbing eagerness in his eyes.
It only took them a few seconds before the doors opened again, taking them into the same corridor where the TARDIS had landed. The Doctor shook his head. The TARDIS bringing him here made sense now. Detecting a like being, it was instantly drawn to it, as the Doctor would be if he suddenly felt a Time Lord presence. Probably took all it had to wait for him to get on board before leaving.
Turning right, they walked a couple of feet down the corridor until they arrived at two large doors on the left. With a hydraulic hiss, they slid open obligingly, revealing the expansive cargo bay he had seen through the monitors on the bridge.
And there, in the middle of the bay, was the object the Doctor wanted more than anything not to go near. The hexagonal shape almost hurt his eyes as he was ushered towards it.
The man with the glasses he had seen earlier looked up from a book he was studying, and took off his spectacles in curiosity as the Doctor walked past.
"Like the glasses," the Doctor mock whispered, waving his fingers around the general area of his eyes.
As they approached the object, the Doctor noticed another armed guard watching over proceedings from a gantry above him. A harsh looking woman with her hair pulled tightly back on her head, she didn't look particularly pleased to see the Doctor. Which was fair enough, because he wasn't particularly pleased to see her.
They arrived at the object.
"Okay, Doc," Michelle said, sounding reluctant. "Let's see what you can do."
The Doctor gave her an unimpressed look before returning his attention to the white hexagon in front of him. He rubbed his hands together like a magician. After a few moments of suspense, he threw his hands out.
"Open, please!" He gave it a couple of seconds. "Nope? Ah well, never mind, I tried. Might as well-"
Making for the door, he groaned when the now familiar pressure of Tim's hand on his shoulder forced him to turn around.
"Maybe you should try the handle, Doc," Michelle suggested. There was indeed a small ridge that could function as a handle.
"Yes, thanks, Michelle." He slowly reached for the handle. His fingers were almost touching it…
He stood up abruptly, questioning finger in the air. "Actually, Michelle, hasn't anyone else tried opening it?"
The soldier stared at him. "Yes. It didn't work."
"Ah, right. Okay. Just thought I'd ask." He slowly reached for the handle. His fingers were almost touching it…
He stood up abruptly, questioning finger in the air. "Because, you know, maybe you should try everyone else before-"
"Doc, if you don't open that door, I'm gonna shoot you in the ass."
"Ah, yes, a well considered and erudite argument, well done. Did you have some preparation time for that one?" Royally annoyed, the Doctor tugged on his lapels before finally grabbing the handle. He pulled, and the door was easier to open than he had imagined. More like opening the doors to the TARDIS. And inside…
Inside was something the Doctor had been expecting, but sincerely hoping wasn't present. A large chamber, the darkness that had once obscured it blinking away as the roundels on the walls lit up, one by one. And there, in the middle of the chamber was the very thing the Doctor had been dreading. A console with six sides. White, like his TARDIS console in the beginning.
The Doctor heard Michelle calling in what had just happened, and also managed to catch Locke's excited response. A horrible knot grew in his stomach.
"Tim," the Doctor said, eyes locked on the console.
"Yes?"
"Can I tell you something?"
He seemed to think about it for a moment. "Yes."
"My initial feeling when I saw this thing was terror. Abject terror. Now I've opened it, and we're all going to explore inside. Do you want to know how my feelings have changed now?"
There was another pause, and there was hesitation in Tim's voice. "I don't think I do."
"No, I didn't think you would." Looking over his shoulder, the Doctor stared right at him. "They're worse."
(A/N: More Doctor Who! I've missed writing this strange man, but no stories were forthcoming until I watched the last series, and this just sort of came splurging out (as disgusting as that sounds).
Anyway, reviews please!)
