Doctor Who, Special Series; Episode 11: The Fall

A/N: Um… I may sort of have lied in the review responses. Maybe. *hides*

Thanks to: Paul, Wonderbee31, Uryuu-Nipaa, Izzy Jizzy, Ptroxsora, MisteryMaiden, LilyLunaPotter142, Stellarsong, FlyingLovegood123, and Jimbobob5536

Fun Fact of the Day: Neil Cross, who also wrote The Rings of Akhaten, wrote this week's episode, Hide. You should all be very, very scared now.


As the Corsair's TARDIS dematerialized, the Doctor sat up cross-legged on the bed, grinning. "Hello, Tonks!" After a brief pause, he added, "Master."

Scanning the room rapidly – bed, two people, four stone walls, wooden door with small barred window – the Doctor turned to Tonks, still beaming. "Ready to get out of here?"

Tonks blinked once and nodded. "Yeah. Please."

"Doctor," the Master purred, smirking. "Missing something?"

The Doctor bounced to his feet, shoving his hands in his pockets. "Oh, you know, this and that, a few marbles, a bar of chocolate, half of my dimensional stabilizers – did I tell you," he said, spinning to face Tonks, "I once lost forty-nine watches in Beijing. Took me forever to track them all down again. Speedy little blighters."

The Master cleared his throat. "Are you certain that one of your plans didn't go wrong somewhere?"

"Oh yes," the Doctor said, beaming at him, "quite certain. Everything's proceeding just how I like it."

Raising an eyebrow, the Master crossed his arms over his chest. "I'm forced to wonder, Doctor, what you could have left, now that your precious little Saviour is dead."

"Oh, didn't I tell you?" The Doctor grinned wider than ever, spinning in a delighted circle, hands flying. "He's not dead! Perfectly healthy – better than ever, in fact, now that he doesn't have a Horcrux in his head."

Tonks looked up at him, eyes wide. "Really?"

Far more interesting to the Doctor's mind was the Master's rapidly paling face. "Another one?" he whispered.

The Doctor shrugged casually. "Not any more. Just, you know, a quick question: You know about them too?"

"The Dark Lord trusts me. And," he waved a hand nonchalantly, "his mental defences aren't nearly as strong as he likes to believe."

Grabbing Tonks' hand, the Doctor pulled her up from the bed. "Let's go. My TARDIS is nearby, and we'll all get out of here."

The Master's eyes narrowed as he stepped between them and the door. "The Dark Lord has become a thorn in both of our sides. I am planning to bring him down irrespective of your assistance."

"Good," the Doctor said, beaming.

"Good?" the Master echoed faintly.

For a moment the Doctor didn't reply; finally he stopped moving entirely. "You're off balance. Why?"

The Master snarled. "Why is the Dark Lord's death good?"

"Touché," the Doctor said, smiling, something dark in his eyes. "Voldemort has run out of chances. He is too dangerous for me to leave alive." Armies had run from that tone of voice; if Jack had been there, he would have recognized it as the voice of the Time Agency's top ranked torturers. It was the sound of Judgement Day, of an implacable force come to destroy.

Of a Time Lord wrestling with his own demons. Inside, the Doctor was nowhere near as calm as he appeared.

What am I doing?

He deserves to die.

So do I.

I can't make that decision.

But leaving him alive will allow him to win.

As it did with me.

I can stop him without killing him, I've done it before.

He will continue, though. Can you bear the weight of those deaths?

No more!

They won't be my fault, they'll be his, for killing them.

But by moving now, you can save them. Isn't that more important?

It's all my fault.

What if I lose control again?

Tonks.

I didn't have a companion Then.

"Doctor?"

He looked up sharply, almost trembling. "Let's go." Flipping his screwdriver out, he crossed the room and touched it to the cell door before remembering. "You left the door open. Why did you leave the door open?"

The Master shrugged casually. "She wasn't about to make it past me."

Somewhere up above, there was a loud crash followed by screams. The Doctor and Tonks exchanged looks. "Allons-y, Tonks!" With a grin, he took off for the door, coat flying out behind him.

Out the door, down a corridor, up the stairs, through a wooden door – it wasn't locked – down another corridor, and then skidding to a stop in front of a new room, doors open wide.

The room had been a rather nice dining area, but the centre table was now ruined by the addition of a wrecked sailing ship – the Corsair's TARDIS. It had crashed, splitting in half, spewing cables everywhere. He could see into one half – the console room was torn open, and it was fortunate that the Corsair liked to keep his control unit slightly off centre, otherwise it too would have been destroyed.

The Corsair had already stumbled out and was leaning against a wall, shaking his head. He was bleeding sluggishly from his shoulder, the liquid visible through his suit. A bruise was starting to form on his forehead.

Jack was lying on the floor, the size of the stain on his shirt indicating that he'd already died once. Even as the Doctor watched, he sat up, running a bloody hand through his hair. "Fuck it."

The Doctor's eyes scanned the room. "Where's Harry?"

Tonks skidded into the room. "Doctor – he went to get help."

Momentarily confused, the Doctor turned to look at her, blinking. "Harry? We – we're in – oh. The Master. Right. Course he did. And – Corsair. Where is Harry?"

The Corsair held a hand to his shoulder, shaking his head. "I don't know. He was in there with us, and now –" He swallowed hard, fingers clenching around the wound. "You were right, you know," he said, falsely casual. "It was the wrong brand of duct tape."

The Doctor laughed bitterly at that, shaking his head. "Blimey. We get so close, and then those damn thermo-couplings."

Across the room, a set of doors burst open, revealing a group of men dressed in black robes, wands out. "Stupefy!"

Dodging the bolts of light with distain, the Doctor caught a glimpse of the Corsair doing the same thing, laughing. Jack fell back down again, avoiding his own bolts – and Tonks took one straight to the heart.

Even as she fell, the Doctor's pulse accelerated noticeably, body shifting into fight mode. He stepped forward, back straight, head up, emotions icily controlled.

Tonks lay on the floor, motionless. They had hurt her, they had hurt his companion, and that was unacceptable, he didn't have much of a moral code left, but even he had some rules he expected the rest of the universe to obey, and one of them was that his companions were to be left alone. Not him, never him, he never got so lucky, but they didn't deserve that, and he would defend them forever.

Theta Sigma!

The name pulled at him, forced him to pay attention. He strained to move forward, but waited. There were very few people who would use that name, and something deep inside told him to wait.

She's not dead. She's just sleeping, she'll wake up soon. Theta Sigma, don't – please. Just surrender, we can make more progress after that. Back away, Thete, just don't do anything –

He spun, face still. Don't call me that. My name is the Doctor. The mental reaction was instinctive, the proper response to someone who had initiated the telepathy.

The Corsair grimaced, hands up. I know, Doctor, but you weren't listening. Back away now, and let's surrender like nice polite civilized folk.

Out of the corner of his eye, he saw Tonks lying still. Since when have you been nice? Or polite?

Agreeing to this with a slight nod, the Corsair raised his eyebrows. I know, but let's just pretend, alright? They're not going to harm her, they've had her for days without anything happening.

Somewhere in the room, he heard the wizards moving forward. It had been 492 milliseconds since they had ceased firing.

She's been bruised! They hurt her, he roared at the Corsair.

The other Time Lord flinched, recovering quickly. And they'll hurt her more if you struggle.

The Doctor bristled, but spun again, holding his own hands up. "We surrender. Don't fire."


They were separated after that, but the Master showed up quickly and took control of Tonks. The Doctor relaxed infinitesimally. The remaining three were bound with an incarcerous and taken to individual interrogation rooms, Jack looking particularly twitchy – that was right, he had been imprisoned here for months. Another thing he had screwed up.

He was left in the interrogation room, hands bound behind his back and then to the seat back, for 41 minutes and 29 seconds. Then he was taken to another room – Voldemort's throne room, by the looks of it – to talk with the Dark Lord himself. Throughout it all, the Doctor and the Corsair kept faint tendrils in each other's minds – just enough to know that the other Time Lord was alive and not in crippling agony.

The room was large, and almost entirely empty. It looked like it had been a dining room at one point, but had since been repurposed. In the middle of one long wall sat an ostentatious throne on a dais. Otherwise the room was bare of furniture.

The only two people were Voldemort, sitting on the throne, and the Doctor, standing before him.

"It hass been a while, Doctor, hass it not?" Voldemort said, looking down at him with what was presumably sadistic glee.

The Doctor noted that he really wasn't in the mood. "Azkaban was just yesterday, even for you. Hardly a while."

Voldemort leaned forward. "Ssince our lasst proper talk."

The Doctor did his very best to wave a hand, hit the boundaries of the conjured bonds, and just managed to wiggle awkwardly. "Yeah, well, we didn't really talk yesterday. So for you, it's been, what? Since June? I guess that's a while, for a human."

Are you going to put any effort into being polite? the Corsair whispered in his mind.

No.

"You have been working againsst me," Voldemort hissed.

The Doctor tried to shrug, discovered that the bonds wouldn't allow that either, and gave up. "Look, if you want me to tell you anything useful, you should let me out of these bonds."

Voldemort looked highly sceptical. "Why? So that you can pull one of your escape tricks again? I think not, Doctor."

"Sibilants," the Doctor pointed out. "They're gone again. Anyway, yes, of course I've been working against you, I think you're a massive waste of space who'd be better off in Antarctica, but that doesn't mean that interrogating me is going to get you anywhere."

Voldemort twitched his wand, but then evidently decided against it. It looked like their encounter the day before had taught the Dark Lord something – what was unclear, but caution was a definite possibility. "I have a problem."

The Doctor sat down, crossing his legs in a semi-coordinated fashion. He didn't face plant, so he considered the manoeuvre a success. "And? I'm sure you have many."

"My Death Eaters have been disappearing," Voldemort bit out. He appeared to be keeping a tight rein on his temper – quite a change from the previous June.

Such a great loss to society, the Corsair snarked.

Quiet! I didn't interfere in your interrogation.

I wasn't 'interrogated' by Voldemort. I got Lucius Malfoy, and we yelled at each other for a bit before he gave up. It was very boring and you wouldn't have wanted to be involved. This, on the other hand…

The Doctor gave up, turning his attention outward again, because like it or no, what Voldemort had said was ringing several, very unpleasant bells. "People? Where? And how? Any witnesses?" There were many options of what it could be, less if Voldemort actually remembered that they were gone, but still – far too many. He would have to see it in action.

Voldemort smirked slowly. "Are you going to help me, Doctor?"

The Corsair mentally giggled. He's got you there –

Anger flashing through him, the Doctor shut down the mental link, closing off the Corsair. Expression completely still, he stared up at Voldemort. "I want an oath from you. Do not hurt my friends. Jack Harkness, th- Sirius Black, Nymphadora Tonks. Do not harm them."

"Or?" Voldemort said, sitting straighter. "You will refuse to help?" He laughed. "There are ways to make you talk."

The Doctor grinned, tight and harsh. Civilizations ran after seeing that grin. "I really doubt that."

Voldemort stood, still smirking. He twisted his wand slightly. "Crucio."

Tied up, there was no way to dodge the bolt. It struck him just off centre, and he understood now why people screamed. It attacked his pain nerves, lighting every single one of them up, driving them to send signals faster than they should be able to, activating the pain regions of his brain.

He almost screamed, almost announced his agony to the ceiling – almost warped reality because of the pain shooting through him. Instead he fought it down, systematically closing off the ganglions. He couldn't feel the rub of clothes against his skin, had shut down almost his entire sense of touch, but it was all worth it because he couldn't feel the pain anymore.

Panting, he grinned up at Voldemort. "You'll have to try harder than that."