6. Truth Will Out.

The Doctor sat in the corner of his cell and stared out the window, counting the stars that he could see through the small square. He could name all of them. Had been to all of them, in fact. If he closed his eyes, he could see them in his mind's eye, each of them different to the last, every one unique. And around those stars whole civilisations had been built, fought and, in some cases, died out. Some had died in the Time War, and he mourned every single one of them.

They had been amazing, and perhaps that was why they had perished. They had been peaceful and entirely too faithful in the good of the Time Lords. They had trusted that, having treaties with the Time Lords and being so far away from Gallifrey itself and the conflict, they would be left out of the war entirely. They had thought that they were protected by distance and diplomacy. But they hadn't thought of the Daleks, their ruthlessness, and what Rassilon – in many ways just as ruthless – would do to stop them. And their faith had gone up in flames.

The Doctor hung his head, the stars slipping out of his sight. It could have reached Earth. In the last days in particular it had been so far spread across the galaxy that the Time Lords, a race once previously loved and in some cases worshipped, had become almost as hated as the Daleks themselves.

He still remembered the pilot that he had failed to save. She had taken one look at his TARDIS and condemned herself to death, shutting herself off from him. And he had died with her, died in a futile effort to save her. Or perhaps he had died trying to escape. Because that was what the Time War had done to so many. So many had died rather than face what they had known was coming.

And through the curse of modern technology, so many of them had been brought back.

For 6 days, the only thing that he had had to occupy his time was his mind and that window. And those two things combined were proving to be more devastating even than the torture he had suffered the previous day. Given the time and effort, he could break himself.

Perhaps that was how the Valeyard had been created. He had often wondered about that. When could he possibly get so bad that he would try to get himself killed? He sighed, his gaze drifting back to the stars through the hole in the wall. Then again, it wasn't so difficult to believe.

A sudden clanging announced the opening of the door, and the Doctor jumped to his feet, turning to face whoever it was who had been sent to attack him this time. To his surprise, a small loaf of bread and a cup of water were floated through the door, landing gently on the floor. The Doctor ran to the door, intending to see if he could catch a glimpse of whoever had decided to feed him at last, but it was shut in his face and the force field snapped up, sending him sprawling once more onto the hard floor.

The Doctor panted, winded, and pulled himself into a sitting position. He stared at the food and water lying on the cell floor. He inched closer and picked up the loaf of bread. Stale and dirty from being on the floor, but edible. He sniffed the water. It smelled strange, but was clear.

He pondered the problem for a few minutes, trying to ignore his rumbling stomach and dry bone mouth. If he had been human, he would be dead by now – he had had nothing to drink since before he had even arrived in this universe – and they surely knew that, or they would have given him water sooner. His gaze was drawn to the bucket in the corner, and he winced. Perhaps not.

They clearly didn't care about keeping him healthy, but they cared about keeping him alive. Keeping him alive gave them more chance of discovering his secrets. But that didn't mean they wouldn't poison his food just for some extra entertainment. They certainly seemed the sort. But he could hardly leave what they had given him – his dehydration was reaching dangerous points, even for a Time Lord, and he didn't know when someone would next come. For all he knew, this would be all he would receive for the next six days.

He broke the bread in half and peered inside it. Good, no creepy-crawly things, no spider webs, no obviously poisonous poison-like substance…

What would you know? You can't sonic it, you can't use magic to analyse it.

Alright then, you just watch.

The Doctor sniffed the bread. It smelled stale. He darted his tongue out and licked a small portion of the inside. He rolled the taste around in his mouth for a moment, like a diner experimenting with a fine wine, then winced. He licked the outside and did the same thing. But it didn't taste like there was anything lethal in it, so he took a bite.

Oh, you're so stupid.

What am I supposed to do, starve?

It would mean they wouldn't get information from you.

Yeah, and if they noticed me starving to death they'd probably force feed me cockroaches or snakes or something. And besides, I'm the Doctor, my death is a fixed point in time. I can't die here.

The other voice remained quiet, and the Doctor nodded triumphantly. "Ha, got you. Doctor 1, Doctor 0."

And to celebrate, he took another bite. And, finding himself gradually getting used to the taste and being driven more and more by his increasingly demanding stomach, he finished the loaf. He sat there for a moment, wondering whether he should be yelling at himself for not rationing it or revelling in the feeling of a full stomach.

Settling on neither, he scooched over to the water, which he had left where it had been left originally, and picked up the cup. He warily sniffed it. Again, that strange smell.

Veritaserum?

He hoped not. He stared at the water, which grew and grew until in his mind's eye it was practically a pool, glittering away at the centre of a desert. He was so thirsty, especially after the bread, and if he didn't do something about it soon, he would be in trouble.

"Fingers crossed," he muttered to himself, and took a sip.

He deliberately moved to the other side of the room, then, and started talking to himself, looking for any effects that could come from a spiked drink. He prattled on about anything and everything under the sun and threw in quite a few whoppers every now and then – every time with success.

When half an hour had passed, he moved back over to the cup and drank slowly, eyes closed, feeling like a man dying in the desert taking a shower.

oOo

Ten minutes later, the Doctor's theory was proven correct as his door was flung open once more. In strode Voldemort, Bellatrix, and someone the Doctor had not yet seen. He was tall, gaunt and had greasy hair.

Greasy hair, hooked nose…

"Snape," he muttered to himself. "Good old Severus Snape."

Fortunately this was masked by Voldemort slamming the door shut and walking over to the Doctor. He spotted the cup lying on the floor and smirked slightly. "You are sure that the correct dosage was given, Severus?"

Snape, who had remained by the door with Bellatrix, inclined his head. "I believe so, my Lord. However, I feel it necessary to point out that he is rather a… peculiar case."

Voldemort did not reply to that, but instead drew his wand, though he let it hang by his side.

Ohhhh, is this Good Cop, Bad Cop? Or Good Wizard, Bad Wizard?

I thought you were supposed to be the negative, sarcastic one?

I am.

Then shut up, you're drunk.

"How do you know of us?" Voldemort asked.

"Wow," the Doctor said, spying a vial in Snape's hands and thinking on his feet. He had a feeling that it was more Veritaserum, in case of emergencies. "You really are like a dog with a bone, aren't you? Or do you not know that phrase? I suppose you wouldn't, being a high and mighty wizard, and all that, but who knows. You might have broadened your horizons a little. You seem quite good at that." He paused, smiling. "Aren't you going to ask me my name? I just love it when people say 'Doctor Who'. But then again you probably don't understand that. I suppose very few people ever say 'Voldemort who'-"

Bellatrix hissed and whipped out her wand, and Snape's entire face became, if possible, more of a wooden mask. Voldemort, for his part, simply raised a hand, signalling for his followers to remain calm.

"- and if they do," he finished, triumphant, "they probably don't live for very long afterwards, so your enjoyment of it would be rather short-lived."

There was a brief pause.

"Severus," Voldemort said.

Snape obediently moved over to the Doctor, unstopping the vial as he went. The Doctor forced himself to remain still on the floor, knowing that a side-effect of Veritaserum was the inability to move. Snape pried his mouth open and the Doctor felt several more drops slide down his throat. He gulped convulsively.

Your first performance could have been better.

What? I did tell him the truth. It's not my fault he didn't get it.

Leaving the Doctor's mouth open, Snape stood and retreated back to his place by the door. The Doctor felt the potion trying to gain control of his senses and he fought furiously, only just managing to beat it back and keep control of his faculties, though he lost awareness of most of his body. He was so glad that he wasn't human, right now. Fortunately, the potion had had enough effect that the Doctor no longer had to fake the limbs that wouldn't respond and the slightly vacant expression.

"How do you know of us?" Voldemort asked once more.

"The same way everyone else in my universe does," the Doctor said in a suitably vague tone. He hoped he wasn't dribbling. That would be embarrassing.

"And how is that?" Voldemort asked impatiently.

The Doctor panicked internally. Rassilon, why did everything have to be so difficult? "The media."

"The media?" Voldemort repeated, clearly prodding for a clearer answer than that.

"The media," the Doctor recited, "the main means of mass communication. This can include television, newspapers, journals-"

"Enough," Voldemort interrupted, and the Doctor obediently fell silent. Was that a slight smirk he saw on Snape's face? "Tell me about regeneration."

"Regeneration is the process of being regenerated."

Was it wrong that he was enjoying this, ever so slightly?

"How is it achieved?" Voldemort stressed, a slight hiss entering his voice.

"By regenerating everything that requires regeneration, thus achieving a regenerated state."

"How does a Time Lord regenerate?" Voldemort said, not one to give up.

"By regenerating every cell in the body."

"And how would he do that?"

Suddenly all enjoyment was wiped away by panic once more. He was tempted to remain silent, but knew that if he did that Voldemort would know that he wasn't really under the control of the Veritaserum, and then he really would be in trouble. He decided to focus on semantics again. After all, it was an automatic process, so technically the Time Lord wouldn't regenerate, his body would. If that even made sense.

"He wouldn't," was his final answer.

That seemed to confuse Voldemort. "He would not?"

"No," agreed the Doctor.

"But a Time Lord can regenerate."

"Correct."

"Why would he not regenerate?" Voldemort asked, hiding his confusion admirably.

"That depends on the circumstances."

"What circumstances?"

"The circumstances surrounding death."

If he was more open, the Doctor was fairly certain that Voldemort would currently be pinching the bridge of his nose.

"Can regeneration be induced?"

"Yes."

"What by?"

"Death."

"My Lord," Bellatrix interrupted, stepping forward slightly, "he is lying!"

"Actually," Snape countered in his typical, relaxed drawl, "I think you will find that he has ingested 3 times the normal dosage, Bellatrix."

"He isn't human!" Bellatrix yelled.

Snape sneered at her. "He is under its effects, even you can see that."

When Bellatrix looked as though she could hex Snape on the spot, Voldemort raised a hand, stopping her in her tracks. "You are quite sure, Severus?"

Snape nodded. "Quite sure, my Lord."

"And if we were to give him another dose of Veritaserum?"

"The effects would be counterproductive, my Lord. I have tried it on human subjects. The only result was a waking coma; I was unable to get any further answers from them."

Voldemort didn't look happy about this. "Very well."

"But, my Lord-"

"That is enough, Bellatrix!" Voldemort said, rounding on her. Bellatrix immediately fell silent.

"My Lord," Snape said tentatively, "if I may venture to give you an observation?" Voldemort's only reply was a stony silence, but Snape continued nevertheless. "Veritaserum is severely impeded by its nature. It is impossible to get the answers required if one does not know the necessary questions. Even a technicality in language can lead to a reply different to the one aimed for."

"Then you will develop something better," Voldemort said shortly.

Snape inclined his head. "Yes, my Lord."

"Until then," Voldemort continued, "you will analyse him as discussed."

"Yes, my Lord."

Voldemort flicked his wand and exited the cell without a backwards glance at the Doctor, who was still on the floor in the grips of the potion that Snape had given him. Bellatrix remained, but she too seemed unaware of the Doctor's presence, and was instead glaring at Snape.

"You lied."

"I did not lie," Snape contradicted, still sounding as calm as ever. "However, I can understand how it would seem so to someone as unversed in the subject of Potions as yourself, Bellatrix. Now, if you will excuse me, I have work to do for our Lord, and your presence is not required."

Spitting on the ground, Bellatrix angrily flounced out of the cell.