A Short Message From The Author –

Hello again, it's been a while. A whole semester has passed since I last updated this story. Actually, a whole semester has passed since I've had the strength and passion to even try writing again. Over this last academic year I have been going through extensive editing and revising of my senior capstone, which has been an amazingly educational experience…but it was only after the fact that I realized how much I have benefitted from it. During the process, however, I managed to single-handedly shatter my confidence as a writer, convincing my susceptible brain that I do not have what it takes to pen anything more than a passably decent Facebook birthday post. It took months of obsessively avoiding this story, and a very long graduation ceremony in which I found myself unable to think of anything but plotting this story, for me to overcome this ridiculous (if crippling) fear that I believe every writer and soon-to-be college graduate feels at some point. I'm not telling you this to get a "oh, poor little author" response from anyone, though. I just feel that these worries and insecurities are so often the fall of many great writers – I'm sure we all know of beloved stories that have been abandoned for a similar reason – and I want everyone to know that it's okay to have your confidence shattered and lose your trust in your own ability every once in a while. These are the worries that make us strive to do better, to become something more than our fears. It took me five and a half months to overcome. For others is could be much, much longer. But you can overcome it!

Anyway, cheesy-ness aside, let's torture the Doctor some more!

Chapter 52:

The sky was covered in a thick, steady sheet of clouds that morning. They almost blocked the sun out entirely, leaving the Doctor and Six in a strangely elongated twilight. Rain threatened them continuously as they made their way further south and the Doctor wondered whether it would fall frozen like the creek or remain in liquid form. The physics behind the forced conformation-state was fascinating - and the Doctor forced himself to think so in order to ignore the sores on his feet, the gash up his leg, and the droop of his eyes.

Over the hours Six got better at finding her feet. Nonetheless, they kept their speed to a walk, both too injured and exhausted to push themselves to the same level as the day before. If the Doctor's speculation was correct, anyway, there were only two other competitors in the arena, and for some reason the Doctor didn't think getting to the finish line was Seven and Eight's priority.

No, you're their priority, he unfortunately kept reminding himself. That irksome little voice in the back of his head was getting more and more morbid with each passing minute, and the Doctor realized it was getting easier and easier to agree.

Despite the heavy cloud cover and threat of rain, it was almost unbearably hot. The air was thick with humidity and each breath felt like it was half oxygen and half water. Sweat saturated the Doctor's hair and permeated his clothes to the point where it didn't even matter if it started raining – he was already soaked through, bring on the storm.

What really concerned the Doctor was his feline companion. She was also damp with sweat, thick blue fur slicked back and dark with moisture. Her yellow eyes were still a bit unfocused from the earlier concussion and she was back to being jumpy and guarded around the Doctor. He tried not to be too bothered by the loss of her hard-won trust, knowing he would have to betray her anyway if he was to get out of here victorious, but a primal part of him was still desperate for companionship. He had never been good at being alone.

Just the thought sent a pang of anxiety through him. Stress simmered so close to the surface these days, triggered by the smallest careless thought, and the lack of sleep and security over the last few days has done next to nothing to settle the nervous reaction. The Timelord closed his eyes and breathed deeply through his nose, counting as he did so.

The scent of sweat and forest floor was strong and familiar by now, but there was something else there, too. It wasn't the metallic odor of Eight or the minerals he'd detected from Seven, but there was something striking and enticing about it. Like decaying waterbed weeds and wet, nutrient-rich mud – the kind only found around pools of liquid water.

"Six, do you smell that?" The Doctor asked, stopping suddenly and holding out a hand.

The Sinjuray jerked away and growled, apparently thinking the Doctor's reach came far too close, but soon lifted her head and sniffed the air pensively. Her powerful jaw fell open slightly, her tongue darting out to test the air as well, eyes closed with subconscious longing.

"Yeah, that's what I thought, too." The Doctor murmured. "Come on."

He sniffed the air again like a dog, following the slimy, mineral-y scent. Luckily there weren't many trees in this part of the arena, the forest trickling off into the hilly golden fields of rock and grass neither of them were keen on exposing themselves in. But the promise of that smell drew the Doctor away from the protection of the tree cover and Six followed, sniffing at the air as well, paws moving faster than they had all day.

Abandoning the forest, the plain of dying grass began to roll and pitch into sharper hills, forcing the Doctor and Six to scramble up the side of one of the many plateaus to follow their noses. The struggle was generously rewarded. At the base of the hill, impossibly, snaked a river of clear, moving water. The liquid whistled as it moved over and between rocks, lapping at the muddy shore the Doctor had smelled earlier and rumbling as it dropped down among the crevices of the shallow canyons.

Six didn't hesitate. She leapt forward, ignoring the Doctor's shout of caution, practically rolling down the hill in her haste to reach the river. The Doctor launched himself after her, desperate with thirst just like the Sinjuray but wary of what the river meant. Six clearly did not share his concerns. Without slowing down the feline surged into the water, leaping further into the river until only her head was visible. Brown, red, and a murkey substance the Doctor knew was sweat leached off of Six and flowed with the current away from her body, showing off how filthy the competitor had been.

The Doctor longed to join her, feeling the stickiness of sweat and blood on his skin stronger than ever before in the prospect of being rid of it, but he still approached cautiously, uncertain. He knelt down, uncaring of the damp mud sinking into the knees of his trousers, and scooped up a handful of water in the palms of his hands. Bringing his hands to his face, he took a deep, calculating sniff, searching for any additives or poisons in the liquid. Nothing. Tentatively, the Doctor stuck his tongue out and dipped its tip into the water. Nothing. He took a sip, swirled it around his mouth, over his tongue, against the front of his teeth, and spit it back out. Nothing.

"This can't be right…" He muttered to himself.

Six had move even further into the river, head bobbing up and down as she was forced to swim in its depths. The Doctor had never know Sinjurays to be keen on swimming, but Six looked happier and more content that he had seen her since they'd met. She seemed to have no reservations about the quality and safety of the water, unconcerned by the sudden change in conformation.

The Doctor waited until she swam back to the shore and slowly waded out of the waves. She shook her entire body, water flying in all directions and splattering over the Doctor. She then turned around, crouched down, and started lapping at the edge of the water. The Doctor watched her, waiting for any signs of worry or distress from the feline, but none came.

Finally, when it seemed Six had drank her fill, she turned to the Doctor, brow furrowed as if asking what are you waiting for?

"Don't you think it's a little suspicious?" At Six's lack of visual response, the Doctor continued. "This entire time all water sources have been locked in a conformation state. They're deliberately trying to make it difficult and dangerous for us. And then suddenly, on the final stretch, we come across a part of the same creek we were chipping at earlier and it's fresh, running water, not ice."

Six's frown deepened and she grumbled a little.

"I know, I just tasted it and didn't find anything wrong either. But…" The Doctor paused, glancing up stream where the water was running unperturbed by ice. "Something just doesn't feel right. Why would they make it easy on us now?"

Six gave a very human-like shrug and began drinking again. After a moment she glanced at the Doctor, eyes expressive and obviously trying to communicate with him. The Doctor shrugged. "Alright…I'll try it."

His thirst could hardly be ignored now, anyway. After losing so many fluids between the bleeding and the sweating, the Doctor was severely dehydrated. Drugged or not, the Doctor was going to have to drink. It didn't make him feel any better about the prospects, but it was really his only available course of action.

And the water tasted amazing. He could practically feel his organs rehydrating as he carefully swallowed the mouthful. It was like no treat he'd ever received before. Even at Eyal, when he was being starved into submission, he had always been allowed as much water as he needed to survive the cruel treatment. Jancon and the Trial organizers had not been so kind…until now.

Suspicious still humming through him, the Doctor helped himself to another handful of water nonetheless. And then another. And another. There seemed to be no slowing now, his thirst coming back with a vengeance. It took a great deal of willpower for the Doctor to stop himself, knowing that if he drank too much too quickly he would be sick. And he couldn't afford to lose the meager food he'd managed to eat the night before. He leaned away from the water, resting back on his elbows and enjoying how the coolness of the damp bank soaked into his clothes. It might get unpleasant later when it dries, but for now it was a blessing against the muggy heat of the day.

Six had finished drinking her fill as well. She sat back with her haunches in the water, methodically dipping her right paw in and then rubbing it against the congealed blood on her forehead. The water washing off her paw was tinted pink. The Doctor was content to just watch her for a while as he eyed the ever darkening spread of clouds moving quickly towards them. With the sun hidden, it was difficult for him to get a proper read on what time it was. The Timelord closed his eyes and reached inside himself, feeling the turn of the planet and the tug of the multiple electromagnetic poles cancelling out each other's reads. It was sometime in the mid-afternoon – that much he was sure of – but the feeling of the planet's fields were unfamiliar to the Doctor, so he couldn't be sure.

It was comforting nonetheless; the feel of the planet's rotation, the positioning of the stars, the ever-changing dynamic of the universe around him – all so familiar and addictively foreign to him at the same time. He pulled further into himself, meditating on Time, feeling its impact on those around him. The stress it put on Six, separated from her partner and her clowder for so long, the hum of the trees and chattering lifespans of the creatures flitting between them. Time bent around his own subconscious and unraveled with possibilities and aches. He longed to be back with Rose and, after so long apart, his need for the TARDIS and everything it stood for in his lonely life physically hurt. This far away in the universe the Doctor couldn't even feel her presence. He reached out further, stretching for the time vortex…but felt nothing.

The plip of something thick and wet hitting his cheek startled the Doctor out of his reverie. His eyes flew open and sought for Six, thinking she'd just splashed him , but the Sinjuray was a few meters up shore, too far for drops to have reached. Then he felt it again on his hand. Then again on his other cheek. The dark clouds had finally reached them, spilling fat drops of water down on the two competitors. The Doctor leaned his head back and sighed as the rain began to fall heavier. It was refreshingly cool compared with the humidity of the afternoon, and the Doctor just couldn't bring himself to be bothered with finding shelter. He was already soaking wet with sweat. At least he would be getting a shower.

He heard a splash and peered over to see Six pouncing into the creek. The rain was creating perfect ringlets on the water's surface, like miniature waves, and at first the Doctor thought Six was trying to hunt them. He couldn't help a slight chuckle. Cats were cats were cats it seemed. Six coiled up and pounced again, sending water flying everywhere, and then quickly stilled, watching the water with all the intensity of a tracker.

The suddenly Six pounced again and resurfaced with a large flailing fish between her jaws. She leapt onto a nearby rock and shook her head expertly, breaking the fish's neck. Carefully inspecting the fish, Six got back to her feet and jumped from boulder to boulder back to the Doctor's side and plopped the limp, bleeding mess of scales in his lap.

"Thanks…"

Six gave a grumble in response and bounded back to her fishing spot. The raindrops must have drawn the fish closer to the surface because only a few moments later Six had a fish of her own. Instead of breaking its neck, Six brought it back to the shore and unceremoniously began eating, letting blood and fish oil run down her chin.

The Doctor glanced down at his own fish and felt a swell of emotions rise up in his chest. The kill had clearly been intended for him, carefully done in a similar fashion to the bird from the night before. Six had kept his eating habits in mind, fed him before herself, thought about him to begin with…

The Doctor now felt even more retched about almost leaving her behind to die. She was better than him. She deserved better than him.

Knowing it would be impossible to start a fire in this rain, and with no sufficient shelter in sight, the Doctor braced himself for a very bloody, fleshy raw meal. He forced himself to his tired legs and trudged closer to the water. He washed the blood and dirt from the fish's scales, found one large flat rock and a smaller, sharper edged stone, and got to work messily skinning the creature. The rock could barely penetrate the scaly skin and he ended up hacking at it rather than slicing.

Six had finished her meal by the time the Doctor had his own de-scaled enough to be edible. She lay down, chin resting on her folded front paws, and yawned deeply. She was clearly exhausted and the Doctor let her sleep, feeling the pull of fatigue on himself as well. He focused instead on his hunger and got back to work.


The kitchen was never a quiet place, except perhaps in the dimly lit hours of predawn after the night servants replace the last newly-gleaming pot on its shelf and before Mrs. Sinh starts up the morning fires. But at the moment, with the last sun teasing the distant mountains with its setting rays, the kitchen was as loud and chaotic as ever. Knives wielded by practiced hands chopped through vegetables with lightening speed, cooks hauled pots of boiling liquids from one burner to the next, shouting warnings as they moved, and young assistants darted around elbows stirring and hands passing ingredients up and down the counters.

To the casual observer it was lawless mess, but as Rose watched from the doorway, presence so far unnoticed, everything turned into a hypnotic dance – timed, choreographed, and performed perfectly.

Mrs. Sinh stood at the back of the room arguing loudly with the head chef. He was a rather portly alien who used his weight and boisterous voice to push the other cooks and assistants around. Mrs. Sinh, however, refused to be cowed by him even as he brandished his massive butcher's knife to accentuate his point. Apparently Mrs. Sinh was willing to give her life in order to ensure roasted hauvskillpud – whatever that was – made it onto the dining table that evening.

Enraged, Chef finally threw his hands up, viciously growling "Fine! Disrupt the entire menu! I hope his majesty enjoys eating cream of waln with his hauvskillpud, because I have no time to rearrange everything! Now get out of my kitchen!"

"We'll see how long it remains your kitchen!" Mrs. Sinh huffed as she spun away on her heels. An assistant nearly crashed into her but quickly scampered away, reciting apology after apology, in the wake of her glare. A glare that finally found its way to Rose. "What is it?" Mrs. Sinh sneered, clearly in no mood to cater to the wide-eyed human.

Rose plucked at the stones around her neck – a nervous habit that took no amount of time to develop. The feeling of the cold opaque gems against her skin was as comforting as holding the Doctor's hand. Strength surged through her at the thought, giving her the ability to not wilt beneath the head of household's impatient scowl.

"I want a job." She forced herself to say loud enough to be heard over the bustle of dinner prep. "Give me something to do, anything. You must need help."

Mrs. Sinh scoffed and tried to move away. "Madam Ilaria would not be happy with me putting her guests to work."

Rose followed behind her, refusing to be ignored. "I'm not a guest, Mrs. Sinh." Rose insisted miserably, thrusting the underside of her arm in front of the woman's face so that the tattooed numbers and letters stood out starkly against the pale skin of her wrist. Mrs. Sinh glanced at it and then back at Rose, eyes slightly more softened. "And I'm tired of pretending I'm anything but bought, it's exhausting and unfair. If he has to be a slave, then I'm a slave."

Mrs. Sinh shook her head with a sigh. "Well, I can't say I understand it, but I guess it beat sitting around and watching the boy get killed." She didn't say it cruelly, and obviously didn't mean it to be so, but the words still felt like a rock had been thrown at Rose's chest. "Come on."

Rose followed behind the woman, dodging the other cooks and assistants. Mrs. Sinh pointed towards a small empty table in the corner of the kitchen, a giant crate of something and a smaller silver bowl on its surface. "Sit there and shuck through these hauvskillpuds. Make sure the entire shell is removed, but save the ones that come off intact."

"Yes, ma'am." Rose nodded. She sat down carefully on the low three-legged stool next to the table and took up a shucking knife, glad to finally have something to do even if it was laboring in the kitchens. The hauvskillpud looked like tiny, bipedal turtles. Rose placed the edge of the knife between the greyish meat and the shell and yanked with all her might, ignoring the Chef's glare from across the stove.


The Doctor had his eyes closed, awake but resting, enjoying the gentle sound of raindrops hitting water and stone. It was the most relaxed he had been throughout the whole Trial, and even though he knew he shouldn't be, the Doctor simply couldn't help himself. With his body hydrated and his stomach full of fish – raw, fleshy, and oily as it was – and the gentle lullaby of nature around him, it was easy to let the pull of fatigue guide his eyes shut.

The taste of camosphere in the air was much stronger than usual, metallic and foreign. He didn't know if it was because of the water outside or the fact that they only had four competitors to focus on, but the cameras seemed to be more attune than ever, filming everything they were doing. The Doctor almost (almost) felt sorry for the viewers. The show must be so boring right now. Nothing much was happening at the moment. They ate, they drank, they rested. The Doctor had actually expected worse coming into the Trial, more production interaction at least, giving them more obstacles then just frozen water and homicidal competitors. Not that he was complaining, of course.

They had found a small alcove not far downstream from where they began with enough of a cover to protect them marginally from the rain. It was shallow and rocky, just deep enough to fit the two of them if they curled up tightly, but it would do. The Doctor was sure they had time to rest for a while and wait out the storm. He knew they were close, perhaps only a day away, and the rain would have obscured their scent from Seven and Eight. Of course, that also meant their scent was hidden from the Doctor and Six, but they would just have to hope their head start and cover was good enough to last them a little while longer.

Every now and then the question of sleep poked at the Doctor once more, and each time he reluctantly brushed it off. He had no real reason to do so – Six was still awake next to him, lazily cleaning her paws and picking fish scales from her teeth. Part of him wondered if Six was thinking along the same lines as he was. That sooner or later something would have to be done about the other competitor. But no, no, that couldn't be right. Only the Doctor was selfish like that. Six had fed him. If she wanted to kill him it could so easily be done. She was born with perfect weapons whereas the Doctor was more or less harmless. If she wanted him dead, he already would be.

No, Six was an ally.

Yet still he turned sleep down.

The Doctor could hear the Sinjuray breathing next to him and tried to find comfort in the steady rhythm. The gentle pitter-patters of rain falling on rock increased and blurred together into a single rush of sound getting stronger and stronger. Or rather – the Doctor frowned and listened harder – it was coming…closer? Yes, the rushing appeared to be coming from a distance, rapidly coming closer.

But the rain. Opening his eyes, the Doctor watched as water splattered against the stones outside in the same tempo as before, soft and soothing. The rain wasn't getting heavier, as the sound suggested. Something else was happening.

Something else was coming.

Pushing himself to his hands and knees, the Doctor crawled to the entrance of the alcove and looked upstream. Six harrumphed curiously and shifted so she could watch him. Everything seemed fine…except the birds had stopped chirping. That could be from the change in weather. Or it could be from something else. The water looked fine, if a little shallow and muddy from the rain runoff. But that wasn't right, it should be shallow if it was raining.

The Doctor crawled the rest of the way out, wincing on instinct when a drop of rain hit him on the cheek as he stood. He could practically feel the ground trembling, or were those his erratic hearts beating their anxiety? No, his hearts were battle-steady. The ground was shaking. The water was receding. Something was rushing, roaring towards them.

His vision tunneled at the sight. There, upstream, far up the sloped canyon but coming at them too quickly was a giant, towering wave of brown water.

"Ҫɑrjɑnow…Six! Get up!" The Doctor cursed colorfully in low Gallifreyan. The cat rumbled unhappily and the Doctor thrust his hand into the alcove as if to pull her out without taking his eyes off the wave. He barely felt the sting of her claws raking down his arm or heard her hiss of panicked surprise. All he saw was the tidal wave rushing towards them, closer and closer

"Ow! Get up! It's a flash flood!" A flash flood channeled straight at them by the valley walls, growing and roaring in anger the more ground it covered. Already, waves were lapping at the crests of the hills on either side. A single, desolate tree along the top of one hill stood no chance against the rage. It bent and snapped under the water's touch like a toothpick and vanished beneath the churning mud. The Doctor did not want to be that tree.

The loud crack of splintering wood and the rushing tide got Six to her feet. She launched herself out of the alcove after the Doctor, who had already started running down the bank. He pumped his arms desperately, willing his legs to move faster, to not trip or slip over the mossy rocks beneath his feet. It would be impossible to outrun the wave, but the walls on either side of the alcove were too steep to climb, trapping them down in the riverbed. They had to get to higher ground.

Six streaked past the Doctor, covering three of the Doctors strides in one single bound. The canyon wall began to angle out but it was still terribly steep. Some rocks and a few unearthed roots could make for handholds. For Six that was no problem. She leapt up the bank, propelling from one boulder to the next with her powerful legs. The Doctor wouldn't be able to make it.

But he had to. He could feel wetness licking at his heels. The roaring of the water was so loud in his ears it had to be right behind him, breathing down his back. Water rushed over his ankles and he tripped at the sudden change in traction. Stumbling, the Doctor blindly shot his hand out, reaching for one of the roots he knew might be sticking out. By some miracle he managed to grab something and hoisted himself up.

Loose water frothed beneath his feet as the wave barreled towards him. He wouldn't be clear of it. He needed to get higher. Straining his arms, the Doctor pulled himself up as high as he could, feet flailing and kicking out in a desperate search for a foothold on the wall. His shoes slipped too easily off the rain-slicked stones until finally he caught something semi-stable. Pushing with all his might, exhausted as he was, the Doctor flung himself forward, aiming for another outstanding rock.

His fingers curled around the smooth, cold stone just as the wave slammed into his legs. The force was tremendous. His feet were swept out from under him, smashed carelessly into canyon wall, and then dragged determinedly downstream. It was all the Doctor could do to hold on, knuckles white around the single stone. His other hand lashed out at a thick nearby vine and grabbed hold of it just as another wave pounded into his side. It was like being kicked by a Judoon – swift and merciless. All the air was knocked from his lungs, but he was so close. He pulled on the vine, trying to drag his sodden, battered body up and out of the water when –

SNAP!

The vine split apart and the Doctor was given one terrifying moment of clarity, as if the universe had slowed down to focus on this one moment of a Time Lord suspended in midair, hands grappling frantically for support that wasn't there.

Then he was falling. His back struck the water with the force of a cannonball and the Doctor cried out in pain. Horrid, murky water slipped into his mouth and rushed down his throat. The Doctor tried to cough and gasp for air, but a vortex below grabbed his arm and yanked him beneath the surface. Panic flared in his chest. Something impossibly heavy struck him on his hip. His mouth flew open in a silent scream just as his mind shouted DON'T BREATHE IN DON'TBREATHEIN! Too late, the acrid water plunged into his lungs as he was pulled deeper beneath the flood, churning, spinning, slamming into what could have been the riverbed floor and what could have been the canyon walls and what could have been the ceiling of the universe for all the Doctor knew. His eyes were wide with terror but there was nothing to see but brown moiling fluid pushing and pulling and drowning him. His lungs screamed against the liquid intruder, burning in agony. His respiratory bypass loyally tried to switch on but water rushed in too fast, making it impossible to seal his lungs off. The brown around him became darker and darker, spots of black flashing before him. He lashed out, flailing is arms and legs, trying desperately to remember how to swim, but the vortex kept wrenching him back. He screamed in frustration, in anger, in fear and water greeted his lungs once more. His limbs were too weak, too heavy. Everything was like lead and he couldn't move, couldn't think, couldn't breathe must breathe havetobreathebreathebreath

The Doctor gasped hopelessly, desperate for air, but there was nothing there by water and darkness.

TBC