Trigger warnings for this chapter: torture, abuse, sensory deprivation, misgendering, stockholm syndrome, rape trauma syndrome.
"There," the Master said, satisfied. "Wonderful. Doesn't it feel nice to be back in Gallifreyan robes, Theta?"
"Yes, Master." Theta's voice was still rough. Ey wondered if it would ever fully recover. Ey doubted it. But the robes did feel good. Awkward and too thin for eir liking, and Theta had always hated wearing anything Gallifreyan, and the Master's seal embroidered on the sleeves felt wrong, so wrong. But they were warm and soft and enveloping, and after the horrible exposure and the cold and humiliation, being back in eir robes was the best thing Theta had ever experienced.
It was even better than the long, hot bath the Master had given em, gently sponging the blood and sweat and… other things… away from eir skin, placing cool washcloths over the worst of the injuries and letting the gorgeous heat wash over Theta until ey almost fell asleep from the warmth and exhaustion.
"None of that, Theta!" the Master had laughed, and he hadn't even sounded angry like Theta had been afraid he would. "You'll sleep well tonight. Not yet, though. We still have things to do today."
Theta's fingers curled in the fabric of the sleeves. Ey didn't want to seem ungrateful, the Master had been so kind to em and ey hadn't deserved it at all. "May I see Lucy now?" ey asked, hating the way eir voice sounded, cracked and barely audible. "It's only that you said…" Ey fidgeted anxiously; the dull ache of movement helped to ground em.
"I did, didn't I?" said the Master, like he had forgotten. Maybe he had; this regeneration of his seemed to lack a certain level of object permanence. Out of sight, out of mind. "Huh. I seem to have misplaced her," he continued, patting his pockets.
Theta gaped for a moment before schooling eir expression into something more mild; the Master noticed it, but he smiled placatingly, flicking eir chin in an air of playfulness.
"That was a joke, Theta. You do know what those are, don't you?"
"Yes, Master."
"Oh, good. I'd hate for you to have forgotten. Certain of your regenerations have had a bit of a problem in that area, after all; there's precedent. Of course you can see Lucy, Theta. And you asked so politely, too! Quick learner." He nodded appreciatively.
Theta fumbled over eir tongue for a moment. "...Thank you, Master."
The Master patted eir cheek with approval before skipping over to the door. "Guard!" he called. There were swift, clicking footsteps in the corridor, and Theta's hearts picked up into a fever beat. Ey cringed back into the corner as a helmeted guard snapped to attention at the door; ey would have hidden completely if the Master hadn't been there, but he wouldn't let them hurt Theta without a reason.
"Fetch my wife," he instructed him pleasantly. "It hasn't been a full eighteen hours yet but Theta asked so prettily my gentle hearts just can't bear to make them wait."
Theta knew ey should probably say thank you again, but the guard was right there and ey could only give a quiet mental whimper of gratitude and hope the Master picked up on it. Otherwise ey might draw the attention of the guard. Theta never wanted to draw the attention of a guard ever again. Ey remembered how ey'd used to tease them with Tish and felt vaguely ill. At least once the guard left eir heartsbeat went mostly back to normal.
"Theta." The Master's voice was mild, but Theta straightened immediately anyway. "You know I expect you to keep yourself healthy." He nodded to a small silver food cart sitting unobtrusively in the corner, and Theta's mouth started to water as the scent finally registered. "You haven't eaten in hours. Lucy will take a few minutes to get here. Eat, go on. Slowly," he admonished preemptively. "Don't make yourself sick, I'll be very disappointed in you."
Theta only hesitated for a moment before picking up the small bowl of porridge. Ey was starving, had only really become aware of it when ey had smelled the cinnamon, but the Master's warning kept em from devouring it, and ey could feel his eyes on em as ey poured milk over the warm oats. Eir first meal in eir new body; Theta could definitely have done worse. It was simple, but it wasn't flavourless, and eir stomach probably couldn't have handled more than that besides. Ey couldn't even finish the bowl.
"Very good," the Master praised. "You can have more later if you keep that down. You're doing very well. And just in time!" he exclaimed as they heard the guard returning. Theta suddenly regretted the porridge, hand shaking badly as ey set the bowl back down and fought not to be ill.
Most of eir reaction was sick fear at the sight of the guard. The rest was shock at Lucy's condition.
She didn't look like she'd been hurt, no more than before Theta had healed her; the blood on her jacket was long dried and Gallifreyan by the look of it. She was barefoot, she'd lost her shoes back in the throne room, but her bruises and cuts were gone and her head wound had closed; the matted rust-coloured patch in her hair was superficial only, no fresh blood to speak of, the cut itself and the concussion it had likely caused faded and healed. Physically, Lucy Saxon was the picture of rather bloody health.
But she was in agony.
Her sprained ankle had to be healed by now, but she stumbled and tripped over nothing and seemed to have lost all sense of equilibrium. She couldn't be concussed, but her eyes were screwed shut and when she opened them to try to see where she was going they were bloodshot and out of focus and she gave a strangled cry of pain. The sound made her cringe and stumble again, clinging to her ears so hard she in danger of drawing blood. The guard caught her before she crumpled to her knees, and a horrible wail escaped her throat before she choked and shuddered. There were bloody lines down her face like scratches, and Theta's blood ran cold when ey saw the blood drying under her fingernails. It was as if she'd been clawing at her eyes and missed. She looked like she'd gone mad.
Theta tried to call out to her, but the guard was still there and the words were stuck in eir throat and ey was shaking and, oh, wasn't that pathetic? The so-called Doctor couldn't help someone ey cared about, who desperately needed assistance, because ey were too afraid, and of something that had been completely deserved as it was.
Whatever Lucy had been through, she certainly hadn't deserved it, Theta was sure of that.
"Lucy!" the Master exclaimed. She gave a gasping moan and tried weakly to back away from him. The guard gripped her shoulder. It wasn't rough or harsh, only a professional warning; but she spasmed like he'd stuck her with a knife, crumpling into a ball, and her mouth moved in a soundless scream like the simple act had been torture.
"Oops!" said the Master unapologetically, without lowering his voice. "I forgot. He poked Lucy with his foot, making her suck an agonised breath through her teeth and let it out in a shuddering sob.
"Master," Theta asked in a whisper. Maybe if ey didn't look at the guard, they wouldn't notice em. "What happened to her?"
"Nothing!" the Master answered with a cheerful clap. Lucy tightened her death-grip on her ears, and the guard walked away. Theta could breathe a bit easier. "Absolutely… nothing." There was a malicious glint in his eyes that said work it out, Theta.
It took a few seconds, but Theta did.
"No," ey said weakly. "You… Master you wouldn't."
"Wouldn't I?"
Theta dropped eir voice to a whisper. "How long?"
Ey could recognise the symptoms of prolonged sensory deprivation. The chambers had been intended as a medical last resort; a modified Zero Room that blocked any and all sensory input in almost every species in the universe. A patient in a sensory deprivation chamber would feel no pain, be bothered by no noise or light. But they were dangerous. It was no wonder Lucy had clawed her face until it bled. Complete sensory deprivation meant complete; the chamber was designed to block the brain itself from registering any sensory input whatsoever. Lucy could scream until her throat bled and never hear her own voice; she could break her leg thrashing in a panic and not only never feel the pain but never feel her limbs moving at all. Her automatic functions would continue, but she wouldn't be able to feel her heart beating, her lungs moving. It rarely took more than a few minutes for a patient who was unaware of the nature of the chamber to begin to panic.
And it was terrifying. Theta felt cold at the very thought. There was nothing to hold onto in a sensory deprivation chamber, not even your own body. It was very much like floating as a disembodied mind. There would be no distractions, none at all, from your own thoughts; on Gallifrey that had occasionally been used, under extremely controlled circumstances and with multiple safeguards and emergency personnel outside, as meditation aides for the very devout. No session was ever permitted to last longer than an m-span; most lasted less than half that. The utter aloneness and unbearable silence could drive even a Time Lord mad after too long, and they still had a link to the hivemind. A human consciousness, so long alone…
"Master," ey said again, marginally louder, beginning to panic. "How long was she in there?"
"Oh," said the Master, looking at his nails with disinterest, "only about seventeen hours."
"Only—!"
The Master tutted. "Yes, only. It would have been longer, if you hadn't asked, and I could always send her back. You wouldn't want that, would you?" he asked lightly.
Theta shook eir head. The Master raised an eyebrow. "No, Master," ey said, "I'm sorry, Master."
"I know you are, my dear."
Theta stood in the corner awkwardly for a few moments, twisting eir hands into the voluminous robes. "May I help her, Master?"
"What?" said the Master, his toys already forgotten for the moment. "Oh, fine, go ahead."
Theta took a breath; ey couldn't understand why he was being so generous even after eir recalcitrance, but ey was going to take advantage of the hospitality while it lasted. "Thank you, Master." Ey stepped toward Lucy carefully.
Everything hurt.
Lucy squeezed her eyes shut and held onto her ears and it hurt, her skin felt like it was on fire just from the feeling of the air touching it and her clothes were like steel wool on her skin and it hurt but the light and the noise hurt more.
She'd screamed… she'd thought she'd screamed… she'd tried screaming… for hours, or days, or years. She'd been alone, so incredibly alone, and she couldn't see or hear and so she'd tried to take a deep, calming breath and focus, because this was just the Master toying with her.
That was when she'd started to panic. Unable to tell if she was breathing, unable to tell if she was even alive, to feel anything at all… She had no idea how long she'd been in that living hell. It felt like it had been forever.
And now the light burnt her eyes even through her eyelids, she felt like she was staring directly at the sun and it burnt and, oh, would staying in that room really have been so terrible? At least there she couldn't hurt. Now every tiny bit of friction from moving against air and clothes made her feel ill with pain, and there was dried blood cracking on her skin and every nerve in her body was raw like it had been scoured and if speaking wasn't agony in every possible way she would be begging the Master to kill her.
She couldn't stand it anymore she couldn't live like this she couldn't everything was too intense the scent of the carpet alone was powerful and cloying enough to fill the room and make her head swim, it was too much after all those years in all that nothingness.
"...Lucy?"
The voice was quiet but it still grated like a foghorn or a dial-up tone, why couldn't everything just shut up, this was like a migraine tenfold and the sound of light, clicking steps on the floor was like bullets being fired.
"Oh, Lucy…" The gentle whisper howled in her ears. She struggled to breathe through the pain, taking a deep, gasping breath. Her ribs scraped and stretch and felt like knives against the inside of her skin. She wondered if she'd gone insane, if this would never go away. The thought made her want to scream but she couldn't, it would hurt. "Lucy… can I touch you?" Even as Theta's voice beat against her skull like a hammer she could hear the tenderness in it, a rough but incredibly gentle sound, like a lion's purr. But the thought of anything making contact with her overstimulated nerves made her feel sick. She tried to shake her head.
"Lucy," Theta said brokenly. "It will hurt but I can help you, I promise… you'll lose your mind if you go on like this…"
She wasn't sure how to tell Theta that she might not have a mind left to lose anymore.
"Tell me to stop, if it's too much," said Theta, placing cool hands on her head. She could feel the hard exoskeletal casings of the alien's fingers through her scalp like the weight of bricks even though there was barely any pressure, and it hurt and she wanted to cry out for Theta to stop but then the pressure began to lessen.
There was a presence in her head, soft and non-threatening and unobtrusive, and she could feel the impression of thoughts and feelings not so much projected as offered up. Normally the sensation of having another person in her head would have made her panic even more; but some of the pain was beginning to slowly fade away. Her breathing was still painfully sensitive but she no longer felt like she was being ground to dust by her light clothes, and the unbearable blinding light was dimming to a normal, dull red through her eyelids. It was as if the presence in her head—and Theta's mind felt strange, pained but comforting, and neither male nor female, not like when the Master had broken into her mind, there had been an overpowering sense of masculinity that time—was reaching out and slowly turning down the dial on her senses.
She gave a long, low whimper, and it hurt her throat but not her ears, so she carefully uncovered them. She risked opening her eyes—
Ow. No. Eyes were not something she was ready for yet. Theta's mind did something odd, almost like a mental flinch, and she felt it open up a little wider, and a rush of disorderly thoughts slip through before it closed up quickly again, so as not to hurt her. Sorry sorry hurrying done almost sorry breathe.
Finally the light behind her eyes stopped hurting and the sensation of Theta's cold hands on her head was comforting rather than painful, and when she opened her eyes a second time—sorry finish okay—the glow of the lamp on the side table didn't glare. Theta helped her up, and he (they? something else?) was shaking with the effort but supported her weight anyway, leading her to the chair to sit.
"Shh," Theta breathed, holding her close. She clung to the front of the thick, soft robes, white-knuckled like she would be torn away at any instant. She didn't know if the Master was still there or if he'd left, and she didn't care; all that mattered was that Theta was warm and soft and gentle and cared and she held on because it was the only thing keeping her breathing. "You're safe now," said Theta in that heartbreakingly tender voice. "You've been so brave, Lucy, hush… it's all right… you're all right…"
She finally let herself cry, and Theta pulled her close and made sure she didn't break.