Eleazar hobbles to the edge of the rock face, furious. One of his men had betrayed him, cutting the boy free and disappearing into the chaos, and the stupid child had gone and launched himself off a cliff.
He peers over the edge. He can see the swirling dark water, hear it churning below, but there is no child.
No matter.
He turns to his guards, who are staring into the chasm blankly.
Idiots. "He will come up for air," Eleazar sniffs. "When he does, incapacitate him."
The guards nod, and Eleazar retreats limping to his office.
He crashes into the water with a brutal slap, feet first, the sound sharp and jarring, like a gunshot. It echoes through his bones, the sickening crack of his impact, the noise and the pain reverberating through his body in indistinguishable waves of agony. He feels the sting of the water on his skin, the shearing twinge of connective tissues in his legs tearing, the deep crushing of his diaphragm as all the air is knocked out of his lungs.
He gasps, and the icy water welcomes him, drags him down and swallows him whole. Time stretches, and the cold seeps into him, into his ears and nose, and he is nearly numb with it, save for the deep ache in his chest. The current pulls at him, contorts him, and he tumbles down. He opens his eyes, but there is nothing for him to see, just the swirling blackness of the water. He tries to orient himself, to straighten his body, but the current and the pain fight against him, and he cannot. He does not even know where the surface is.
Panic seizes him. He can feel the burn in his lungs, knows he cannot hold his breath forever. He stretches, reaching, elongating his body, pulls with his shoulders and kicks, swimming as hard as he can. His legs will not cooperate. He thinks he will burst, his chest is on fire now. He releases the air in his lungs; it bubbles, ticking his face as it swirls and rises to the surface. Now he is just empty.
He is going to die.
The knowledge hits him, and the panic fades. It is just reality, another fact. He is cold and numb and empty, and he is going to die here, cold and numb and empty.
He stops struggling, lets the water take him. It is strangely peaceful.
The Doctor holds his breath. Dex has been under for 90 seconds now. He cannot see the surface of the water from the camera angle, but the guards are still and silent, watching, waiting.
His lungs burn, but he holds off his respiratory bypass. He does not allow himself to imagine what is happening to Dex.
100 seconds.
110. The fire in his lungs is nearly unbearable, but he holds on.
120.
At 128 seconds, his bypass system takes over automatically. The fire fades, and he sinks to the floor and curls into a ball, numb.
There is a knock at the door of his office. Eleazar glances up from the book he is reading. "You may enter."
The door slides open, and a guard steps forward, tentatively. He slowly removes his hood and stands before Eleazar, eyes on the floor.
"Yes?"
The guard clears his throat. "Sir." He pauses, does not look Eleazar in the eye. He tries again, "The boy, sir. He never surfaced."
Eleazar hums, never turning away from his book. "Pity," he sighs.
The guard bows and slips out of his office.
A shrill beeping jars him out of his peaceful sleep. He groans and rolls over. He'd been having such a nice dream.
Rose is sitting up, feet swung off the edge of the bed. She silences the alarm on her watch and sighs softly.
He scoots toward her, propping his head on one arm and wrapping the other around her waist. He looks up at her, bleary-eyed. "What is it?" he croaks.
She smiles softly, but he can see the tears in her eyes. He is instantly awake. He sits up quickly and pulls her to him. She lets her head fall into his chest. "S'just an alarm," she says quietly.
He gently runs a hand up and down her shoulder. He knows her better than that. "An alarm for what?"
She sighs into him. "When I was looking for you, I set this watch to run on Earth-time. My Earth. I didn't want to lose track of how long I'd been gone." She pauses, takes a shuddering breath, and continues quietly. "Today is his birthday."
He doesn't speak, just wraps her tightly in his arms and holds her, lips pressed into her hair.
Dex is floating peacefully. He is still vaguely aware of his body, can still feel the cold and the burn and the ache, but is somehow above it all, detached. He can feel his consciousness flickering, his brain blinking out, and he welcomes it.
Suddenly, like the flipping of a switch, he is alert. The ache in his chest fades and the overwhelming urge to breathe is gone. Adrenaline burns through his body, and he reacts, swimming with all his strength, ignoring the screaming pain of his legs. He does not stop to ponder the miracle, cannot even begin to comprehend what is happening, he just swims, desperately. The water is calmer now, and he feels as though he is rushing to the surface.
His head thumps something solid, and he realizes that he is trapped beneath the rocky floor of the cave. The panic threatens to consume him again, but he holds it back, reaching out with his arms. Rock on either side. He must be in an underwater tunnel. He swims forward frantically. His muscles are burning.
An eternity passes. There is only the blackness, only the swirling water and the sharp rock pressing down on each side of him. He knows instinctively that his miracle will not last much longer.
He thinks he can see a patch of light.
He makes for it, pushing desperately against the water.
He shoots through a narrow crack in the ceiling of the tunnel. The blackness fades, and now he is in open water, can see the sparkle of light as it reflects on the surface.
He reaches for it, kicking with all his might. His body is on fire.
His head breaks the surface, and, oh, he can breathe! He floats on his back, panting, reveling in the sweet ache of the cold air as it rushes into his compressed lungs. Nothing has ever felt so good.
He lies there, staring at the ceiling, unthinking, just breathing, floating in the center of a large, calm lake. He is in another open chamber, though he thinks that this one may be closer to the surface. Jagged cracks in the ceiling allow some light to filter through.
The burn in his muscles begins to fade, and the pain of his injuries hits him. He needs to get to the shore. He flops over and tries to swim, but the adrenaline is gone, and his left leg won't cooperate. He pulls with his arms, slowly moving forward until his hands hit the bottom.
He tries to stand, but a stabbing pain shoots up his leg and he falls over. He crawls, dragging himself out of the water, and collapses onto the bank.