The Doctor looked rather disappointed. Dying wasn't exactly what he had in mind, but then again it could be an interesting death. Granted the last one was unexpected, but it hadn't been anything to write home about, well if he had a home to write to that was. He leant forward staring into the back of Suffolk's skull trying to fathom him out.
"Dying?" he said with more than a dash of incredulity. He sat back in the chair and wobbled slightly until he balanced himself perfectly between the wall and the desk. Gareth Suffolk's face showed a flicker of emotion for a moment and then it was gone. He had probably expected more of a reaction.
"Anything else?" the Doctor asked casually, "Apart from dying I mean. I always hoped that if someone was going to spend all their life dreaming about me that I'd be some dashing hero… I dunno, like Errol Flynn maybe, without the tights though, not my style. If I just die, well it's hardly exciting is it?"
Suffolk's white eyes and red pupils blinked at him like a fox caught in the headlights of a car that was racing towards him. He sat back in his seat and resumed his previous position, leg juddering slightly, fingers rubbing at the bottom of the jacket, worrying the lose threads until they knotted. His head inclined fractionally to the right, as though listening for something, he clicked his tongue against the roof of his mouth.
"You aren't like the others."
Breakthrough! The Doctor leant forwards again, conspiratorially, "No, I'm not."
A small trail of spittle was trickling from the corner of the man's mouth. Arms restricted by handcuffs he hunched his shoulder and wiped the clear fluid on a yellow stained patch of fabric. The movement was perfect. Well practised. Slowly the man straightened himself, taking on an air of unearthly knowledge, "You don't belong here."
The Doctor nodded agreement, "Neither do you." He cast a glance to the CCTV camera fitted in the corner of the consulting room, red light flashing on and off twice a second. In his trouser pocket he felt for his sonic screwdriver and carefully switched the machine off without moving the device into the camera's or Suffolk's line of sight.
A strange laugh barked out of Suffolk's throat, gnarled, twisted and devoid of any humour, "Been telling them that for years."
"Why are you here?"
"You read my file."
"That's just what other people think," he slid the psychiatric notes to the far corner of the table, "I'm interested in what you think."
"Why?"
"Because I could just be your ticket out of here."
Suffolk snarled, off white front canines exposed themselves from behind lips that looked bruised and swollen. He spat at the Doctor, a large globule of phlegm landing on the edge of the desk and dripping slowly to the floor.
The Doctor remained mostly impassive, except to raise his eyebrows at the excretion of bodily fluids. It was an impressive display, very well controlled, expertly designed to scare the hell out of most people. Without moving from his seat he could intimidate anyone within ear shot. Easy to see why he was locked up in a high security hospital ward. It was also repulsive. Still, he had a job to do, not the one Suffolk thought, and not the one the medical staff were expecting of course. Rising slowly to his feet the soles of his Chucks squeaked on the scratched, over polished, floor. In a movement that Suffolk never even saw he was standing behind the patient's chair, a hand resting purposefully on the dry left shoulder, his weaker side if the Doctor had judged it correctly.
"Now listen to me," the Doctor's voice was deathly calm and edged with acid, "I'm not here to play games. I'm not one of your puppets that you can make dance to your petty little tune. Yank my strings and I promise you I'll have them put you somewhere you really deserve to be… and that's not here, is it?"
If Suffolk's skin had not been already paper white he would have blanched. His neck moved as if to turn towards the Doctor but a second hand on the back of his blonde head forced him to stare forward at a pale green wall dented and stained, at some point in its life, by a tossed coffee cup. He breathed steadily, measuring his breaths, "What do you want?"
"Answers."
"About?"
The Doctor's fingers closed a fraction tighter on the back of the other man's head, manipulating the pressure points just enough to emphasise his point, "Everything."
A pained grunt snuck out from Suffolk's nose, "Alright."
The Doctor returned to his seat patience stretched thinly across his face, "We don't have a lot of time."
Suffolk's façade was cracked. He sat still now, extremities no longer moving in a nervous manner, and when he spoke it was in a deeper, unforgiving voice, "Where do you want me to start?"
The Doctor settled back in the hard plastic chair and smiled wanly, "Tell me about the dreams."