Chapter Nine
Hrm… you'd think he would have gotten used to falling by now, with all the plummeting he'd done over various cliffs, catwalks of giant malevolent machinery, giant sentient confections- through the centuries.
Odd thing was, he knew he wasn't conscious. And wasn't –that- very strange?
When he did strike something solid, it was like hitting a pillow, only harder, thicker, pulsing with something, curled like the basin of an antique creamer. But it was soft, with long bits and short bits. Almost like a hand…
The moment his naked foot touched within that huge mass of gently curling fingers he knew someone had him. Oh yes, someone had them all. Soon his less addled brain cells began to float upward, to break the surface of sleep. At once he thought of his baby, tried to feel her presence in his mind, the feathers of her as she dwelt at the edges of him.
Edges. He'd felt frayed for so long. And then Rose. And Donna. And Martha. And Jack and his little one. All the others, too. They were his beacons, the last little vestiges of the light he was trying to save.
How far up was he? Or was it down, considering the feeling of height versus space he was experiencing, he might as well have been in a giant cavern beneath the motel. If the motel had ever really been there. He recalled quite clearly now that he'd made a special point to mention one to Jack. Perhaps it had happened then? And if whatever it was –had- happened then, was the baby he now carried even real? In any case, he could feel the turn of the place's core, the thermoelectromagnetic pulsation of celestial gravitation, just as he'd described to Rose on –that day- in the Henrick's lot.
"The turn of the Earth," he said softly, his voice quiet and tired as it hadn't been since his private little war with Rassilon. "Is there anyone there? I mean, other than you, My Lady Pythia. Or am I just one very lucky boy?"
The cavern containing them shivered; a voice boomed through the night-black darkness of the sepulchral, ever-dripping limestone. "Release me! Release me and I will spare your unborn child the fate I have dreamed for you! Release meeeee…"
"Oh please. Why can't you just give up? It ain't gonna happen, no if's ands or well you get the ideas. Stop trying to get me to do what you want. It's really beginning to irk me. And I'm betting you still remember the last time you irked me, yes?"
"I accede. But We will have Our reckoning, son of Gallifrey."
The caverns shook; lights glowed and gleamed and beamed and glistened out from the dank and nether places.
It was time to leave. But where was Jack?
"Oh, no you don't. You see, My Lady, I'm not done yet. There are questions I'd like answered, not by you of course, you'd just lie. I mean by myself. But I need you here, and since you're obviously stupid enough to come into my brain, I can keep you here. Indefinitely. I can do what I like with you."
He paused, flicked his hand up. A dark red, shiny apple carved with a smiley face appeared, resting on the tips of his Time Lord-y fingers like he was a pedestal in some museum. Then a smile lit his face, showing his chin and filling his small, greenish eyes with a big grinning light. But the Pythia knew that face, whatever flesh it wore. It was the face of moral justice
The apple rose in his hand, multiplying as it moved into one, two, three fruits, each rotating and orbiting and overtaking each other above his vaguely circling wrist, the digits turning in their ball and socket joints as they juggled.
"Ball and chain, lock and key, wax and wane upon the tree," he sing-songed, smiling and not smiling in turns as the apples' ringed shadows striped his face, utilizing masterfully the look that terrified all who came against him.
"Take them home, chop them up, mix with butters in a cup,"
The turn… the mad turn of a dervish… she could not help but watch as the three fruit whirled in his hand, spinning and spinning across the unsettling new features of the man who had bound her to hell.
Why wouldn't he stop? The spinning…
"Flour, sugar, baking pan, in the oven for a span,"
His fingers were faster now, circling like white seabirds over a steep ocean cliff… was that flesh she felt again, filling out her mind's bones, filling her…
How could one be dizzy in one's own mind? This was her place, her prison! How dare he do this? How dare he play games in her own…
What was he …doing? Why wouldn't he just… stop…
"Make a pie, crows will die, heat it in the oven high,"
Much more, and he would have her taking form for his whim. This would never do. But… she couldn't seem… to stop it…
"Piping hot, cream or not, topping in a boiling pot,"
And he was watching her, just watching her, standing there in space and not smiling at all… why wouldn't he smile at her? It seemed as if that's all she'd ever wanted…
She found she had fingers, suddenly. And what was that she was sitting on? A toffet? What was that? It was so nice and soft and firm, like a mushroom. When had she forgotten mushrooms?
"Curds and whey, feet of clay, let my boyfriend go and I won't destroy your mind today."
A blink was all it took, and she was in his hand. Literally. A page out of some Earth story, sitting right there in the Doctor's colossal hand.
"So glad to see you're back with us again, dear. How was the vacation? This is ironic really. I rather dislike spiders. And don't think of using that one, it's already been tried. Soooo! How are we then?"
The Doctor smiled down at the little girl in his hand. She was wearing a sweet little dress, white with red ribbons, and the cutest little bonnet!
"Feeling better? Or do you still hate my guts, My Lady?"
The little girl scowled up at him, tears in her eyes. "I… I concede. Leave, before I change my mind." She watched his fingers, big blue eyes wide as the two digits came together, thumb and fore, all in slow, exaggerate motion, a colossal hand dance of towering statues.
Then there was a quiet laugh, and He was gone.