Shoulders cramped and searing with pain, eyes dry and blurry, sweat dripping down his back, Jack continued to work with the machine which was becoming uncomfortably hot under his hands. There were so many tentacles now, he was having to trap them under the heel of his left hand.
Sometimes when he peeled off a green tentacle, a yellow one would reach out and attach itself to the green one that was just trapped. The first time it happened Jack panicked. He tried to pull it away and trap it under a separate finger. An awkward move, that caused even more tentacles to reach out and attach themselves, making matters worse. He realized he was left with a choice of releasing the green energy he had trapped completely, starting again from square one, or leaving it be and hoping he could figure out what to do later. He chose to continue and hope an answer to the new dilemma would present itself in time.
Curiosity born of worry got the better of him after a few more successes with the green energy and he gently nudged a yellow tendril and watched it fall off, rejoining the main body of the Doctor's life force. He tried it with the rest, the same result. Though it was definitely a success, Jack took it as a bad sign. The Doctor must be losing his strength, his will to continue.
Now the job was nearing its end, and not a moment too soon. A power alert displayed in the top right corner of the screen, at least it was amber, not mauve, so he still had time, but he didn't know how much.
He was untangling the next to last pair, when he saw multiple tendrils of the yellow energy, the Doctor's energy, reaching out and attaching to the green. Then to his horror, he saw the yellow energy seem to start to lift itself towards the majority of the trapped green energy, as if it was trying to invade it, become a part of it. If he destroyed the creature now, he would destroy the Doctor, leaving his body an empty husk.
"Martha! Go to the Doctor! Talk to him!" Jack barked.
"What? Why? What's going on?" asked Martha, startled at the urgency of the first words she'd heard from Jack in over five hours. Despite her surprise, she rushed into the cell, white coat flying behind her as Jack shouted.
"He's trying to merge with the creature. Convince him to let go. Otherwise we're going to lose him."
Martha knelt down next to the Doctor. Jack held his breath as the power indicator turned mauve.
Breathing was becoming easier for the Doctor. No longer did he need to constantly think about that normally autonomic function and force each breath to happen. His rib cage and diaphragm would expand and contract on their own. His hearts were beating, though weakly without his constant direction. He could detect a bit of light and shadow, vague shapes but nothing meaningful; he closed his eyes so he could concentrate on the other sensations. His mouth was dry with a vile taste of iron and copper, it was blood, his blood. There was the smell of sweat confirmed by the taut and sticky feel of his skin. Muscles tight and cramped, he forced them to relax. A hoarse gasp emerged from his sore and raw throat, simultaneous with the dull thud of his broken wrist dropping to the floor.
There was pain, but it was not the over-exaggerated impossible pain that the creature laid on his very nerves, but the pain of real injuries to his body. The stinging pain of the scrapes and cuts, the dull pain from pressure points too long on the concrete, the sharp pain of the broken bones that made him want to stay very still, the sick uncomfortable pressure of damaged organs that made him want to move to find a comfortable position when there was none, the burning pain caused by the toxins in his blood from that damage.
It was, in an odd way, a relief to feel actual physical pain after the false horrors he'd been subjected to. With hesitation he checked his time sense, it was no longer being played with. Again he could feel the flow of time around him.
This however might not be a good sign. Why would the creature give up its control? It had the advantage, he'd been losing. He knew it. Why did it give up when it was winning? It was slipping away from him. There was hardly any contact left. Panic rose in him as he sensed Jack nearby, that wrongness of something that could not be. "That must be it," he thought. The creature was leaving him to go to Jack. It was getting away, about to take over his friend with his endless lives.
While he had the chance and energy, the Doctor turned off the mechanism to regenerate. What he was about to do was a move born of desperation. If he was wrong or failed, he didn't want the creature to have that resource. Then desperately he reached out with his energy to grip the creature. Pull himself inside of it, and found his living body was still anchoring him. That tether was failing however, if he kept pulling, he could break free, go with the creature. Unencumbered by the weakness of his body, he might be able to control it, prevent it from taking over Jack. And that was a further advantage, Jack would help, the two of them together, they could defeat it. End its threat. He dared to feel triumphant, knowing he finally had a plan to stop the creature that would work. A plan of action, not just holding on and hoping.
A voice he could barely hear was speaking to him, distracting him. He couldn't afford to listen to it, he had to keep fighting to stay with the creature, not let it escape him. The voice however was insistent, getting louder. The words were slowly becoming coherent. They were seductive, telling him it was safe. He could let go. The creature would be destroyed when he did. It was what he desired most, which is why he couldn't trust it. It could be a ruse, the creature making him think he was hearing what he craved to hear. That it was finally over, they had won. He ignored the reassuring words and fought to maintain his hold.
Then there was a single phrase. Words he knew had to be real. He let go his grip on the creature and allowed his energy to sink back into his body. His diaphragm spasmed forcing air sharply from his lungs, then before he had a chance to recover another spasm occurred. Soon it developed a rapid rhythm as he found himself chuckling at the words, "You can't go now, who will keep Jack out of trouble." The creature had no sense of humor that he'd observed. The words were genuine. He took a deep breath and opened his eyes to see a very blurry Martha staring at him, grinning ear to ear. He returned a small smile as he said, "Well, I certainly can't let that happen, now can I?"
"No, you can't. Welcome back," Martha answered her hand resting gently on his shoulder. "Now, hang on it's not quite over yet."
Suddenly it felt like the welcome might have been premature. He screamed as his spine caught fire and was being pulled out of him. He panicked as he had no control over his body again. It wasn't Martha it was a deception, the creature had won, he couldn't stop it now. Then the impossible pain was gone, reality was back as he heard a whoop of triumph from Jack.
"Sorry," Martha was saying. "It's really gone now. It's over. You're safe."
"Good," was the Doctor's soft reply as he closed his eyes overcome by weariness and fatigue. All the physical sensations he'd been experiencing were leaving him, being replaced by numbness and lethargy. His breathing was shallow and slow. Too little to sustain him. He was feeling nothing, as if he was floating, so tired.
Martha was yelling at him, telling him to stay awake, but he had no strength or even desire to respond. Vaguely he was aware he was no longer the one she was addressing. Her tone was more urgent. Something about a cart, shock, crashing. He didn't care as he slipped off into nothingness.
