AN: At last! After such a long wait, here we are! And, I've changed the way I transcribe accents. After this chapter goes up, I'll go back and redo the rest of the story.
The Doctor was, once again, running.
And, strangely enough, he liked it. Just enough to get his blood moving through his binary cardiovascular system, pumping up the double-time pulse and sending jolts through his body like shots of pure caffeine. He hadn't gotten the chance to stretch his (very long) legs since holing himself up in that spire with Japan (who, mind you, was a very nice fellow) but still...
He didn't want to complain that he'd let the nations have all the fun since he was sure that they weren't having fun at all, but even though he didn't want to think it, he did.
Because, really, there was no pleasure in being the one in control of everything. It was all too full of guilt and second-guessing, and...
... this was full of excitement and open spaces (just look out a window!) and danger and peril and running...
Unfortunately, it was also full of danger, peril, et al.
He had to watch his step a little as he ran because he had to keep his eyes on the map the whole time. The one he'd been able to get wasn't equipped with communication, only constant updates as the Proeliites moved through the ship. Which was very useful, but slightly aggravating, as ignorance is, in fact bliss.
For the third time he found that his route was running straight through a group of Proeliites, and so that meant (what time was it?) Detour Time! which was a bit annoying and all that, because it was nerve-wracking to try and figure out a new course while other people caught up with you. Sort of like playing Tetris when you only have a little bit of space left. And then when you lose, you die.
In other words, just like the usual day in the life.
The Doctor turned around in a careful circle and then sped down another hallway.
It wasn't too much more of this until he found that he had reached his destination, or at least the map told him that was the case. "Italy?" he called, spinning on a heel. "Are you there?"
"Veh... Doctor! You're here!" Italy's frightened face appeared from over the edge of the dome - it really was strange architecture. The wall opposite the windows curved up and became part of a massive bubble that just ran tangent to the ceiling. Beams and girders were laced all over the canopy of this, making it a veritable jungle gym.
... the Doctor made a note of this in his mind. It was designed for climbing... and the Proeliites never did anything by accident...
But there was Italy, alive and looking scared but now more hopeful than the Doctor would have expected.
"Well, what're you doing up there?" the Doctor called, relieved. "Come on down, you!"
"I... ah... eee..." The nation clung to the ceiling a little tighter.
Like a cat up a tree, the Doctor thought. "Right, those are vowels," he said dryly, "Well done. 'O' and 'U' and sometimes 'Y'... aw, don't be scared, Italy, just come down the way you got up, all right?"
Italy suddenly contracted into a ball. "It's too high!" he squeaked, in a kind of determined surrender. "I can't do it! Veh, I'll fall..."
"I'll catch you," the Doctor said calmly. "Don't make a fuss, Italy. You've got to get down so we can save Germany together, isn't that right?"
The red head shook vigorously back and forth. "But... I'm probably just going to mess it all up anyway like I always do and you'll have to save me too and I'm just a useless coward anyway and you're so clever and..."
"Italy..." the Doctor tried.
The nation sounded like he was working himself up into a fit of hysterics. "And nothing I do ever comes out right except drawing and I can't even throw a grenade properly and I couldn't stop them from taking him away..."
"Italy, listen to me."
Eventually the red head reemerged.
"You're not useless, I swear. I need people like you... There's something about me that you ought to know," the Doctor said. He beckoned. "Come on down and I can show you."
"It's too high!" repeated Italy, sounding less sure. He edged closer to the ridged wall that he had used to get up in the first place.
"Don't you worry about that," the Doctor reassured him. "I'm right down here. I'm stronger than I look, you know. Come on. I'll catch you if you fall, I promise." He held out his arms and patted his chest.
The Doctor sounded so sure of what he said that Italy found himself climbing down without hesitating, although his hands did shake a little. Near the bottom of the wall, he let the Doctor help him down.
"See? Not so bad, eh?"
Italy shook his head shyly. "Not really."
The Doctor snorted. "As a matter of fact, it was quite high, quite slippery, and quite dangerous." He shook his head, both admonishing and admiring at once. "Just look at it! Could have broken your neck!"
"I... huh?" Italy hadn't expected to hear that.
"You climbed down from all that way just because, what? You knew I was there?" He made it sound like a very silly thing to have done. "Skinny old me?"
"Um. Yes. I guess."
"Exactly," said the Doctor, pleased. "That's what I am, every time. When you're brave, it's because you know there's something stronger that will back you up if you have to - your god, your values, your friends, your future, your place in the world. Or," he added with a wink, "you think there is. Neat little bit of misdirection, bravery. And that's what I am. The faith in a leap of faith - that's me." He patted Italy's shoulder. "Important to remember that. So then, do you need me or do I need you?"
Italy swayed unsteadily. "What?" he asked, confused.
"Ah. Right. Bit too metaphorical there..." The Doctor took Italy's hand. "In other words... Allons-y!"
Then they ran.
In the spire, Japan was listening to his communications link with France, China, and Russia. His forehead was knit tight in concentration and deep thought.
"Are you sure?" he asked abruptly. "Are you absolutely positive that's what..."
The voice at the other end responded in a brief flurry of staticky words. It sounded like someone was shaking the paper.
"These computers have access to all this ship's," said Japan after the speaker was done. "If one only knows where to look for it, and how to interpret it."
A crackle and a few words.
Japan nodded. "Thank you. I will do my best."
He turned in his chair and faced the other monitor, and quickly typed in a string of characters.
"How strange," he said to himself as he did so, "that I should be able to understand their language when I have never encountered such aliens before in my life."
The Doctor skidded to a halt. "Did you hear that?" he said sharply, diving for the floor and pressing his ear to the porcelain surface. "Italy, did you hear that?"
"That was my stomach growling..." said Italy uncertainly. "Veh... I think..."
"No, no, not that; I heard that too, and what kind of metabolism have you got there anyway? Hungry already?" He shook his head amiably, then returned to concentration mode.
"What did you hear, then?" Italy asked. "Why are you lying on the floor?"
"I'm listening," the Doctor said. "Listening to the noise... the funny noise... the echoey noise... the noise that isn't a noise at all..." He leapt to his feet and slapped his forehead. "Not a noise! A-ha! Not hearing it, thinking it!" He ruffled his hair furiously, and then pointed at Italy triumphantly. "Psychic broadcasts! Oh, that awful alien jiggery-pokery, knocking about inside your head, but you can hear it too, can't you? You can hear it, if it's what I think it is... go on, listen!"
Italy rubbed his eyes. "To what?"
"To the floor, of course, the spot right there! Tell me if you hear anything!"
He still looked bemused but Italy trustingly lay down on his stomach and put his ear to the floor. He glanced at the Doctor and made a questioning thumbs-up. Is this right? Seeing a nod, Italy grinned proudly and then did as he was asked - he listened.
After a moment he said, "I hear words... someone's talking... I don't understand what they're saying but..."
"You're quite sure you can't understand?" The Doctor made this sound like a very important point.
Italy thought hard. "Nope!" he said finally. "Not a clue."
"Perfect," said the Doctor. "We've got the right spot, then. Right, now stand back, because this could be a bit dangerous." He shooed Italy out of the way and took out his sonic screwdriver. "Now all I've got to do is..."
The Doctor paused, and the scrutinized the tool in his hands. "What is this?" he demanded, as if affronted. "You're not going to be any help here," he told it. "Get out of my sight, you." He tossed the screwdriver over his shoulder (Italy caught it with great reverence and proceeded to devour it with his eyes), and reached in his pocket. "There we are. That's more like it."
He was holding a blowtorch.
"How did you fit that in your pockets?" asked Italy mildly.
"Oh, come on. Bigger inside than out. Anyway, this thing folds up, see?" It did. Italy watched the demonstration, greatly impressed. The Doctor looked pleased with himself. "I came prepared this time."
The Doctor took out his glasses and stuck them on his face. "Not just to look clever this time," he said. "Safety first." Then, he flicked the flame of the blowtorch on with a finger, aimed it at the floor, and then began to slowly trace out the beginnings of a wide, molten red arc. Sparks spat out of the incision.
"Wow," said Italy happily. "You do this kind of thing all the time, veh?"
"Yes." Then the Doctor frowned. "Well, no. Not with a blowtorch. That's rather new. But I like it. Do you think I should keep it?" he asked conversationally.
"Is this your map?" Italy held up the cel sheet.
"That's my map," the Doctor agreed. He had almost made a semicircle now, which he was squatting in the center of.
"Veh, are we in the middle?" Italy asked.
"Right in the middle," said the Doctor cheerfully, starting on the second half of the circle. "What about it?"
Italy tapped the page. "So, are we little clusters of red dots on there?"
"No, we're not on there. It only maps hostiles. Red dots are Proeliites."
"That's funny," Italy said, turning the map around and around. "I could have sworn that we were in the middle, but I guess I read that wrong. I thought the big clump of red dots was us."
"What big clump of...?"
"Right there..."
The Doctor's smile didn't falter. "Oi, Italy. Come stand over here, okay? You got my sonic? Yes? Okay, put it in my pocket." The Doctor shifted so that the nation could reach. "That's good. Now, I just have to tell you something that you're going to have to obey. Just do this one thing. Are we clear?"
"Si, sure. What is it?"
"Don't step out of this red ring. Don't do it. No matter what."
Italy was puzzled. "Okay... I'lll stay in the ring."
"Excellent."
Something in the Doctor's voice made Italy a little nervous. He looked up and then at the map, and then down the hallway. "Doctor," he said. His voice was more high-pitched than normal. "Doctordoctordoctor."
"Ah. Well, just remember what I said."
"That bunch of dots... they're right here!"
"Don't run away," the Doctor ordered firmly. "Stay right by me." He was at three-quarters now, and the blowtorch was beginning to really warm up.
"They're coming! I see them! They're right here!"
Feet tramping towards them...
"Intruder, halt!" hissed the burly green leader. "Intruder!"
"Almost there!" said the Doctor brightly.
"I surrender!" Italy wailed. "White flag! White flag!"
"What are you doing?" shouted the lead guard. There were about six or seven of them, but only one spoke. That one hefted its gun, and the others reached for stun batons from their belts. "State your intention!"
The Doctor looked up. "Oh," he said. "Welding. To be precise, welding a hole in your floor... you don't mind, do you?" He smiled cheekily, hefted the torch, and added, in a perky, sing-song tone, "Oh, look. We're done... Draw a circle..."
And as the group of Proeliites charged, the circle in the floor quite suddenly became a hole, which Italy and the Doctor fell through like a pair of stones dropped from the Leaning Tower of Jupiter.
Within seconds, their fall was broken by something net-like and slightly sticky. The Doctor caught hold of it but Italy bounced, down and further down until he hit a body midway.
"Germany!" the little nation cried, clinging to his friend. "Germany! Veh, veh, veh, you're alive! Say something, Germany! Wake up!"
Germany didn't move, or speak, or open his eyes, but he shuddered a little, like the air temperature had dropped violently.
"Oh, shoot," the Doctor muttered. "Blowtorch." He caught a group of web strands next to him and began to swing his way over the net to the two nations. "Italy! We've got to move fast! Look down!"
And Italy looked down. "Fire," he said blankly.
"Yes, quite a lot of it," confirmed the Doctor. "I expect this spiderweb is a tad flammable. So, you know, might want to hurry."
"What's wrong with Germany?" Italy exclaimed. "Why isn't he awake?"
"I dunno," said the Doctor. "Huh. Give me a wee second." He swung around and slid down the web so he was splayed out right next to the unconscious nation. Warily, he reached out and gave Germany a little slap on the head. "Wakey wakey," the Doctor said cajolingly. "C'mon, you. Don't nap now." He pressed a pair of fingers under the nation's jaw. "Pulse is... it's slow," he said worriedly. "Way too slow... he's in some kind of stasis... but, what's maintaining it? Poison? A neurotoxin? Italy, pass the screwdriver." The Doctor swept the device over the nation, performing a quick, efficient scan.
"How do we get him out?" Italy squeaked. "How do we wake him up? What do we do?" He couldn't keep his eyes from straying down to the bottom of the web, where smoke was rising, and scarlet tongues of fire were licking the air, colored no doubt by the strange chemical content of the webbing...
"Calcium!" the Doctor cried. "Red flame means calcium! That's it!"
"What?"
"These webs have a high calcium content! And calcium... where do you find calcium, in the body? Bone, yes... No! Not just bone!" He leaned forward and touched his tongue to the web.
Italy watched this curiously. "Taste good?"
"No, it's disgusting, of course... hold on..." He concentrated. "Oh, no. They can't be... but that would be brilliant..."
"What would be...?"
"They're sensor strings! More of them! The webs are the sensor strings, but they aren't just sensing movement, they're doing something else too, they're..." He reached out and pushed back Germany's blond hair right where it ended, on the point where his neck met his skull. "Italy, look at this, quickly."
Italy fumbled around on the net and eventually twisted himself into a position where he could see the spot the Doctor was pointing to. The skin was raised in a whitish, veined lump, and filaments - tiny, milky threads - dangled out of the tumor to join with the web around it.
"Nervous tissue," the Doctor breathed.
"Well, it seems pretty confident to me," said Italy.
The Doctor stared at him. "What are you talking about?"
"I said, it doesn't seem very nervous to me, the way it's sort of... ah... wrapping around my hand..." Italy's voice was eroded with panic like a statue in acid rain, and it was at that moment that the Doctor realized that his arms had gone numb. Below the wrist it was slowly encasing itself in thread.
A slow clapping filled the room. "Oh, very good," said a half-familiar voice. "You just had to take that long to figure it out, Doctor. As always, my friend, you're simply not seeing the forest for the trees." The voice erupted into gleeful laughter. "Or the spiders in said proverbial trees."
"Shut up," said the Doctor, breathing hard. "You're. Not. Him. Don't you dare..."
"Or what? You'll whine about it?"
The Doctor shut his eyes tight and concentrated. "You're not..." His eyes opened. "Your eyes are red," he told it. "Bright. Red."
"Are they really?"
"You've got eight of them stuck around your head in a neat little row..." the Doctor persisted, eyes screwed up from effort. "You've got fangs... you're a great big spider and you... don't sound... like anyone... that I know!" He gasped a little at the end of the sentence, but he was proud of his small victory.
"Congratulations," said the Proeliite, voice shifting to a smooth, almost synthesized monotone. "So you can see through the surface layer. It's not so great of a feat, you know... humans are just so very blind and you... you are very much like them, despite all the differences."
Absently, the Doctor gazed below at the rising red fire. "And you can make humans see whatever has them scared-"
"Not scared. Comfortable." The emotionless, chrome red arachnid eyes kept on watching without blinking or shifting. "People want to see what makes the most sense, because they're comfortable with that. They hear a voice they recognize, they see a face that almost could be theirs, or a friend's, or an enemy's... it's simple enough to bypass the vision centers of the mind and replace it with what you expect. You do it in your sleep, as I understand."
"What have you done to Germany?" Italy yelled. "You... you bastardo! Let him go!"
"What did I do to him?" the alien repeated. "I offered him a choice." His head turned to look at Italy, and then down at the fire that was creeping up towards the three men trapped on the web. He waved a hand and suddenly Germany's eyes opened, and the nation began to cough.
"Smoke..." he spluttered. "Is zhere fire?" He turned his head. "Italien! Vhat... vhat are you doing here?"
"Oh. We're rescuing you!" Italy chirped.
Germany looked to the ground, where an inferno was raging. He looked at Italy, who was stuck fast to the web, and to the alien across the way, who was watching all this with seraphic calm. "Zis is vhat you call rescue?" he demanded.
Italy's face fell. "Well... the Doctor's working on it..." Italy wondered why Germany had looked so ill at ease, whipping his head around at the mention of the Doctor's name.
"In his case," the Proeliite went on, "it was a choice between bare truth and constructed fantasy. For Britain, it was something slightly different. But I am always offering a choice."
The Doctor raised his head and his eyes seemed to turn inhumanly coal-black, flickering with hidden fire, as he whispered, "So am I."
And the words echoed in the room. The Proeliite tilted its head. "What was that?"
"I said, so am I," the Doctor whispered. "A choice. Just the one, just like yours. And you know what?"
What...? the unheard whisper responded, in spite of itself.
His voice rasped like flint over steel... in a room full of hydrogen gas. "Your choice is now."