The Doctor blinks and shifts, shaking himself awake. The first thing he notices is the intense pounding in his head, throbbing with each beat of his hearts.
"Ah, I'm pleased that you've decided to join us, Doctor. I was beginning to worry."
He sits abruptly. He recognizes that musical, sickening voice.
Eleazar is sitting comfortably in a large leather chair. He smiles warmly at the Doctor.
A torrent of memories floods him, and he leaps to his feet, eyes murderous, face contorted in rage. "Where is he?" he snarls.
Eleazar only smiles, and the Doctor thinks that he'd like nothing more than to tear this man limb from limb. He starts toward him, and is immediately knocked back by an invisible force that sends him reeling. He stumbles, nearly falling backwards before he can right himself.
Eleazar tuts at him. "Now then, Doctor, lets be civil. I only want to discuss my latest acquisition." His yellow eyes sparkle with amusement.
The Doctor nearly collapses. He'd been desperately holding on to the hope that Dex had managed to escape. "What have you done with him?" His voice is low and hard.
Eleazar shakes his head in a display of disappointment. "I have done nothing," he says to the Doctor, eyes glittering coldly. "Yet."
The rage burns out, leaving a hollow shell of emptiness and despair and fear. The Doctor has never felt so helpless. He thinks of Dex, remembers the way his eyes shone when he'd been allowed to program the TARDIS, remembers the way Dex would squeeze his hand when he was overcome with grief, remembers the goodnight hug and the late nights in the study and the banana pancakes. He remembers the last time he'd seen Dex, his green eyes wide and full of hurt. "Eleazar, please," he pleads, voice rough and broken. He has never been so sincere in all his lives. "Please, he's just a child!"
Eleazar's eyes glitter. "Is he, though?" he asks softly, piercing the Doctor with his gaze. "Tell me Doctor, why are you so attached to him?"
Oh, but that was the question. The Doctor cannot even begin to describe the depth of his devotion to Dex, far beyond attachment. He fumbles with it, the question, memories and emotions drowning him. There is nothing adequate to define it, the words are too feeble, too predictable. The answer comes to him, and he struggles with it, old fears and doubts surfacing, but the truth of it cannot be denied. "I love him," he says, simply.
Eleazar pauses at that, clearly surprised at the Doctor's answer. He recovers quickly, rolling his eyes dramatically. "Do not insult my intelligence, Doctor. What does the last of the Time Lords know of love?"
The Doctor feels his face harden into a stone mask. He does not honor this with a response.
Eleazar waits patiently. When he realizes he will not get an answer, he leans forward, eyes sharp and probing. "What have you done to his mind?" he asks softly.
"What?" The Doctor realizes that he's spoken the thought aloud. He isn't sure what Eleazar means.
"Your hiding him, his telepathic abilities. Why?" Eleazar stands, moves slowly, purposefully toward the Doctor.
"He's human," says the Doctor, brow furrowed. "He has no telepathic abilities." He knows, had checked. The only telepathy Dex had displayed was hearing the song of the TARDIS, and that was her doing, not his.
Eleazar shakes his head sadly. "Doctor, it will be much easier for the child if you cooperate. I have other methods of extracting the information."
No. No, no, no. He will not touch Dex. The Doctor moves unconsciously forward, is knocked back again. "Eleazar, I swear, I've done nothing. If it's a telepath you want, take me. Let him go."
Eleazar smiles sardonically. "Oh, Doctor, if only I could." He sighs wistfully. "Even if you were truly willing, you have too many defenses to be of use. Even with physical contact I was only allowed access to the surface of your thoughts."
The Doctor remembers the handshake, the barriers around Eleazar's mind, the small, tight- lipped smile, the all- consuming fear that had possessed him. Eleazar had called him Doctor, knew his history, had preyed on his fear for Dex, enhancing it, blocking everything else out. He angry, furious, but not shocked. It only confirmed his suspicions.
Eleazar continues, "but a child..." He smiles viciously. "A child's mind is so open, so pliable." He pauses, looks hard at the Doctor. "I can only imagine what treasures must be guarded so closely."
The Doctor pulls furiously at his hair. He is desperate now, pacing the length of his invisible prison. "He is just a normal little boy!" he shouts, shaking with rage.
Eleazar makes a great show of shaking his head and pinching his brow. "Oh, Doctor, I am so sorry," he sighs. "To carry the burden of this child's fate on your conscience, your own doing. How can you live with yourself?"
The words are well-chosen. They pierce him, boring into his hearts, and he nearly staggers back. He knows, in that moment, that if anything happens to Dex, he won't be able to live with himself. He had tempted the universe, made a promise that he could never keep, played russian roulette with a life that was not his own, doomed a child. Her child. He doesn't bother cursing the vicious irony. They'd come full circle. He'd failed.
Eleazar sees the words hit home. He revels in the small victory, glides toward the door.
"Eleazar."
Eleazar turns obligingly. He is startled to see the intensity burning in the Doctor's eyes. He thought he'd broken him.
"If you touch him, you will die."
The words are uttered with such conviction, such rage, that for a moment Eleazar feels an icy tendril of fear wrap around his heart. He quickly shakes it off, laughing quietly. The empty threat of a helpless man.
He shuts the door and the lights flicker off, leaving the Doctor alone in the darkness.
Dex wakes in a bright white room. He sits up slowly, heart pounding in his chest. The room is large. Harsh lights shine in his eyes. He blinks. The room is cold and sterile, empty except for a large cabinet.
Dex realizes that he is sitting on a steel exam table.
He quickly slides to the floor, words like vivisection and autopsy and lobotomy running through his mind. He shakes away the unpleasant images and walks slowly toward the large cabinet. He tugs on the handle. Locked.
He isn't disappointed, hadn't expected anything different. He runs his hand along the white walls, tapping intermittently, trying to gauge the layout of the building he is in.
The walls are solid all the way around. Dex suspects that he is in a steel-enforced bunker of some sort.
The thought is not comforting.
After a scrupulous inspection of the walls, Dex finally finds the tiny, well-disguised crack that indicates the door. He thinks it may be a panel that slides into the ceiling, though he cannot be sure. It is steel enforced, too. Dex shrugs. Seems they aren't taking any chances.
He doesn't mind. He likes a challenge.
Dex scours the ceiling for any sign of surveillance. He knows he is being watched, but he will feel much better if he can discover the camera. There is nothing visible on the ceiling.
Dex clambers onto the exam table and stands shakily, trying to get a good view of the light fixture above it. It is difficult; his legs are trembling and the light blares into his eyes, temporarily blinding him. He stares into it, allows his pupils time to adjust, slowly watching the spots fade. He blinks and reaches up with his hands, standing on tiptoe, stretching his entire body, and runs his fingers along the edge of the light.
It is hot, scorching the pads of his fingers, but Dex steels himself and continues his search.
There. He feels it, a tiny nodule on the far edge of the light fixture. He grits his teeth against the pain and picks it up, twists it in the opposite direction. Finally.
He sighs and nearly collapses, settling on the exam table with a clatter. If the movement of the camera doesn't summon them, his racket will.
Dex slides off of the exam table and sits with his back to the wall, next to the door. He sticks his blistered fingers in his mouth. They hurt.
It will be worth it, he thinks, if they come for him.