Dex is sitting at the kitchen table, tinkering happily with his latest project. His brow is furrowed in concentration and his tongue is pressed to the roof of his mouth.
He is building his own sonic screwdriver.
The Doctor smiles at the sight. After they'd been imprisoned last week for sacrilege on Rommevolvia - how were they supposed to know that giggling outdoors defied the holy writ of the goddess Myolda? - Dex had expressed interest in his own sonic, the Doctor had been delighted, offering to build it himself.
Dex had scowled. "What's the point of my own sonic if it isn't mine?" And that had been the end of that.
"How's it coming?" The Doctor pulls out his specs and leans over Dex's shoulder to get a better look. He notices a wire out of place and nearly comments on it, holding his tongue at the last second. Dex is nothing if not stubborn. He will figure it out soon enough.
Dex hums, never looking up from his work.
Oh, is that how it is? Abandoned for a sonic screwdriver. He shakes his head as he sticks his finger into the jar of marmalade that is sitting on the table. Just like his mother, that one.
"Got it!" Dex shouts, proudly holding up the sonic. His face lights up and his eyes are huge and shining.
The Doctor grins at him. "Well lets see, then," he says, holding the marmalade jar in one hand and licking his fingers.
Dex presses the button and the sonic emits a sputtering, high pitched whine.
The Doctor's jar of marmalade explodes.
Dex is in the console room when the Doctor returns from his shower. He looks at the Doctor sheepishly. "I think I fixed it," he says, holding his sonic toward the Doctor as a peace offering.
"Right," says the Doctor, "but lets test it outside." Adorable as Dex is, the Doctor does not fancy being on the wrong end of another of his experiments. He still hasn't forgotten the toaster incident. "I don't need you resonating the TARDIS controls."
"Can I fly her today?" Dex asks eagerly, eyes shining. He shoves his sonic into his pocket, long forgotten.
The Doctor closes his eyes. He'd kept Dex's mind off of the TARDIS for two weeks, and now, he's gone and brought it up. Idiot. "No," he shakes his head.
Dex's face falls, and the Doctor feels a twinge of guilt. "I'll teach you how to program flight coordinates." The words are out of his mouth before he can analyze them, but the expression of joy on Dex's face is worth the compromise.
They spend the next two hours in the console room. Dex is watching the Doctor intently, and the Doctor pauses his lecture now and again to quiz Dex. Even after all this time, Dex never fails to amaze him; he asks intelligent questions and almost never has to have a concept repeated. Finally, the Doctor steps back.
"Okay," he says, turning his back to the console. "Program a flight to London, November 23, 1963."
"What's so special about that date?" Dex asks, shrugging out of his hoodie. He's not nervous, not at all, it's just hot in the console room. The Doctor can hear him methodically flipping switches and pulling levers.
"Not a thing," the Doctor answers. "Just picked it at random."
Dex hums in answer, still flipping switches. "Alright," he says after another second or so.
"Finished?" asks the Doctor, turning around to face Dex. That had been quick.
"Yup!" says Dex, smugly. He is grinning.
The Doctor looks over his shoulder at the view screen. The flight path is perfect. "Molto bene!" he says, squeezing Dex's shoulder proudly.
"Can I pick the coordinates this time?" Dex looks hopefully at the Doctor.
Rassilon, he cannot resist those big green eyes. "Lets just see where you take us," he says after a pause.
Dex closes his eyes and presses his tongue to the roof of his mouth, concentrating on mental calculations. He programs the flight quickly, and the Doctor starts the materialization sequence. They land smoothly.
The Doctor is staring at the view screen. "I don't recognize this planet, Dex," he says slowly, looking at the coordinates that Dex had picked.
Dex has already swung open the door. "Look," he says, poking his head out of the TARDIS. They are in a city. The streets are paved with small, smooth stones, all black or grey or brilliant blue. The buildings are made of the same stone, but cut into larger bricks. They are older and weathered, and the overall effect is both countryside cottage and royal court. Dex thinks it's the coolest city he's ever seen.
The Doctor is not convinced. "Come inside, we aren't staying." He is already moving toward the console to initiate the dematerialization sequence.
"But how are we gonna learn anything when we only go to places you've been to?" Dex asks.
He's got a point, the Doctor supposes. A colonized planet that he's never heard of is a rarity.
"We'll be careful," Dex says, judiciously using the Doctor's favorite catchphrase. He can see him weakening.
"Dex," drawls the Doctor. They should really, really go.
"Ten minutes," says Dex. He knows he has already won the battle.
"Five minutes," says the Doctor firmly, "and no wandering off."
Dex smiles at him and grips his hand, and together, they leave the TARDIS.
The city is deserted. The Doctor wonders why. He is feeling uneasy, whether because of the emptiness of the streets or something else, he cannot say. Dex is gripping his hand tightly, but otherwise seems unconcerned.
The Doctor is about to suggest that they return to the TARDIS when they come to what appears to be the town square. In the center is a gleaming white fountain with seven tiers. Behind it sits a blue dome, by far the largest building they've seen yet. The square is still and eerily silent, gentle rush of the fountain the only sound.
"Dex," says the Doctor quietly. He is reluctant to break the silence, but they need to leave. Now.
They are suddenly surrounded by a group of large men wearing black hoods. The Doctor hadn't noticed them. They circle Dex and the Doctor, holding out small silver cylinders menacingly. The Doctor catches Dex's eye, and they both raise their hands obligingly above their heads. One of the guards moves forward and digs his weapon deeply in the Doctor's back.
The Doctor has excuses for over 16 different crimes fleeting through his mind at any given moment. Normally, he'd be rattling off a story, flashing his psychic paper, and they'd be off. But this time, he is silent, waiting. He is acutely aware of Dex breathing calmly beside him. He cannot afford to get it wrong, not this time.
The guard prods him forward, and they move slowly, silently into the large domed building. The Doctor keeps stealing glances at Dex. Dex meets his eyes each time, his gaze calm and alert and intelligent. The Doctor can see the wheels turning in his mind, taking in his environment, calculating, strategizing, and he sighs softly with relief. If Dex is still thinking, he is okay.
The are lead down a long dark hallway. The air is warm and damp, and the guards' heavy booted footsteps echo eerily. They are tossed into a cave-like prison cell, cold stone floor completely bare. The guards motion for the Doctor to remove his suit jacket, and they frisk them both. The Doctor's jacket is not returned. The bars slam down with a reverberating clang, and the echoing footsteps retreat down the corridor, and they are alone in the blackness.
The Doctor reaches for Dex, groping helplessly in the dark. " Dex?" he whispers, voice hissing loudly against the heavy silence.
"M'right here," Dex says, cheerful despite the dark. The Doctor feels little arms wrap around his waist, and the he reaches down and picks Dex up, pulling him into a tight embrace. Dex settles into the crook of his shoulder, seemingly unfazed by the Doctor's uncharacteristic display.
"Dex, I'm sorry," whispers the Doctor, "I'm so sorry."
Dex rolls his eyes, though the Doctor cannot see. "S'not your fault," he says practically. "I made you come."
"You're my responsibility," grates the Doctor. He isn't sure why he is so affected; he's been in far worse situations dozens of times before.
Dex huffs at him. "And I'm right here," he says firmly. He knows that at nearly eight years old, he should be responsible for himself, but the Doctor doesn't see it that way. He thinks he's responsible for the whole universe. Dex can't imagine that burden, justified or not.
"Right," murmurs the Doctor, slowly setting Dex down. He tells himself to get a grip. Dex squeezes his hand, and the Doctor is grateful.
"Right, then! Assets!" says the Doctor, trying to make his voice light. Dex knows better.
"No sonic, no psychic paper, no information on why we're being held," Dex rattles off. He'd been keeping a mental inventory.
"You don't have your sonic?" the Doctor asks. A half-finished sonic is better than no sonic at all.
"Nope," Dex says wistfully, shaking his head. "Left my hoodie on the TARDIS."
The Doctor empties his pockets. He has a banana, a wind-up mouse, a 23rd century circuit board, and The Complete Works of Charles Dickens, first edition. "I've got nothing," he sighs at Dex. He is beginning to reconsider his strategy of keeping his important things in his suit jacket.
Dex squeezes his hand. "Did you have a chance to see the back of the cave?" he asks.
"No," says the Doctor, encouraged by Dex's line of thought.
They've made their way halfway around the perimeter of the cave, hand-in-hand, when suddenly, the whole cell and the hallway are flooded with a blinding light. Dex and the Doctor blink frantically, the sudden brightness painful to their unadjusted eyes. The Doctor can hear the faint buzz of long-unused incandescent bulbs. When he can open his eyes fully, he sees a small man in white robes standing outside their cell between two guards. The Doctor hadn't heard them approach.
The man steps forward and unlocks the cell. He is old, with white hair and a well-kept beard. His eyes are a very light shade of hazel; they shine sickly yellow in the strange lighting of the cave. He holds in his left hand an intricately carved white cane with a luminous blue stone at the handle. He extends his right to the Doctor.
"Please forgive their treatment of you," he says in a soft, musical tone. Dex wrinkles his nose. "We are unaccustomed to visitors in Karphelox, and I'm afraid my guards have forgotten their manners. Their behavior, of course, is inexcusable."
Dex subtly shifts his weight, and the Doctor catches his pointed glance out of the corner of his eye. Good. Dex is not buying it.
The Doctor decides to play nice. He smiles pleasantly. "It's quite alright," he says. Normally, he would give some snarky reply and a veiled threat. Normally, he would want to investigate the empty city that imprisons its citizens just for walking outside. Normally, he would uncover what was wrong, fix it, and be sauntering back to the TARDIS in time for lunch. Even now, he can feel the simmering curiosity, thinks in the back of his mind that he will return while Dex is asleep. But now, right now, the most important thing in the universe is standing right beside him, leaned casually against the wall of the cave. The Doctor feels a chill of fear shimmer down his spine. He does not like the way the man in the robes in looking at Dex. "An honest mistake, I'm sure."
He takes the proffered hand. The skin is wrinkled and mottled, cool and dry, but the grip is surprisingly strong. It feels so wrong, such strength from the frail little man, that the Doctor reflexively reaches out to the man's mind. He meets a steel wall. Oh, that's not right; no human should be shielded like that. He withdraws quickly, and the little man gives him a cold, tight-lipped smile.
"I'm Eleazar," he says, releasing the Doctor's hand. "Patriarch of Karphelox."
"John Smith," replies the Doctor automatically. He pauses, then adds as an afterthought, "Traveller."
Eleazar extends his arms graciously. "Come with me," he says softly, gliding gracefully out of the cell and into the passageway. "Lets have a chat." His gaze drifts fleetingly to Dex, and the Doctor feels another cold spike of fear twist between his hearts. He catches a gleam of silver in a guard's gloved hand, and reluctantly follows Eleazar out of the cell.
The Doctor can sense Dex burning with questions as they follow Eleazar through the musty corridors. He knows that Dex is expecting him to stage a daring escape, and he suddenly regrets telling him all the stories of his adventures. He can see that Dex does not understand his caution.
As they walk, Eleazar explains Karphelox's history as a mining provence, the economic boom that came with the discovery of alcanite, the shining blue stone that the capitol city is constructed of. Eleazar tells of the uprising that resulted from a shaky political transfer, the ensuing war that had raged for nearly 25 years, and the new age of peace that had settled over Karphelox. "The war had been over for 13 years now," he says, melodious voice full of pride for his home, "and Karphelox has never been stronger!"
"You must be very proud of the progress you've achieved," says the Doctor diplomatically. As if that much isn't obvious.
"Yes," says Eleazar as a hidden panel in the wall slides back to reveal a large, inviting office. It is furnished with an expensive wooden desk and plush leather seats. If not for the hooded guards behind him, Dex would have thought he was in the Vitex corporate building. It seems very out of place in the damp, cave-like labyrinth from which they'd come.
Eleazar settles behind the desk. "Please sit down," he says politely, extending his arms toward the leather chairs. Dex and the Doctor sit obediently. Eleazar leans slightly forward. "Now, we will discuss compensation."
The Doctor leans forward as well. "Compensation?" He's not sure what he is being compensated for, or if he will be doing the compensating.
"Of course, you will name your price," says Eleazar, settling back in his chair, "as is customary." He pours a drink from a pitcher on his desk and offers it to the Doctor.
"I'm sorry, price for what?" asks the Doctor, brow furrowed, ignoring the proffered cup.
Eleazar shrugs and brings the cup the his lips. "For the child, of course," he says, sipping delicately.
"What?" chokes the Doctor. He glances at Dex, who looks a little pale, and then glares at Eleazar. "He's not-"
But Eleazar cuts him off. "Of course, he will be housed in our finest facilities," he says grandly. "All of the children are treated with the utmost respect. I can arrange a tour, if you like. Some of our more ethically-inclined suppliers insist." He folds his hands delicately on the table.
The Doctor leans forward, face thunderous, glare fixed on Eleazar. "He is not for sale," he says, voice low and dangerously soft.
Dex watches wide-eyed. He thinks he will be more careful with his sonic screwdriver experiments in the future.
Eleazar is unruffled. "Why are you here," he asks patiently, "if not to sell the child?"
The Doctor stands abruptly. "We're just passing through." he says, gripping Dex's shoulder. Dex slides out of the leather chair.
"We don't have visitors," says Eleazar. There is a cold edge in his yellow eyes.
"Coming here was a mistake," says the Doctor earnestly. He is desperate to get Dex off this planet.
Eleazar's face hardens slightly, though his voice remains warm and soft. "I see," he says, standing. "I'll have my men escort you outside. You can be on your way."
The Doctor nods curtly. He grips Dex's hand tightly and makes his way to the door.
"Oh, Doctor?" Eleazar calls softy. The Doctor turns slowly, eyes burning.
Eleazar is gripping his cane, hand over hand, leaning heavily forward. "Strange," he murmurs, "how attached you seem to be to a child that is not even of your species." He furrows his brow as if concerned, but his eyes glitter viciously.
This time, it is terror that bolts down his spine. It is sudden and electric, and it burrows deep into his hearts and settles there, cold and deadly. He whirls abruptly, dragging Dex down the hallway with him, hoping to give the impression that the speed of his departure is a result of anger, not the fear that has suddenly possessed him. His only thought is to keep Dex safe.
By the time they reach daylight, Dex is nearly running to keep up with the Doctor. The Doctor does not slow. He grips Dex's hand tightly, knows that he is probably hurting him, but Dex doesn't react, and the Doctor cannot bring himself to loosen his hold. He will not let to of Dex until they are in the vortex.
"Doctor," says Dex as they round a corner, domed building disappearing from view.
He does not answer, will not answer, until they reach the TARDIS.
"Doctor," Dex says again, more insistent now, and the fear speaks for him.
"Not now," he hisses sharply. He thinks they are being followed. He shoots Dex a glare, intending to intimidate him into silence.
Dex plants his feet. "You need to-"
"All I need," the Doctor spits, bending low and gripping Dex's shoulders harder than he intends,"is for you to get to the TARDIS."
Dex does not move, does not flinch, just gazes at him stoically, but the Doctor can see the hurt in his eyes. Guilt gnaws at him. He wants to teach Dex to fly the TARDIS, wants to wrap him up and tell him he's sorry, so sorry, for so many things, wants to go back to that night two weeks ago and return his hug.
But the fear will not release him.
"Dex, please," he begs, eyes dark with desperation. The guilt and the fear are at war, threaten to tear him apart, and he needs Dex to move, to come to the TARDIS, needs to protect him, needs to know that he is safe.
Dex is very still, looking at the Doctor with luminous green eyes. "He called you Doctor," he whispers.
Something cold and numb shatters in the Doctor's mind, and he realizes. The fear does not fade, not at all, but the Doctor has a sudden sense of falling back into himself. With the sensation comes the fury.
He knows what just happened.
He hears Dex's shout just as the burning starts in the back of his neck. It is instantaneous agony, a raging inferno blazing across his body. The Doctor sees a swirl of black robes as he falls to the ground. His last thought is that he can hear Dex screaming his name.