Ooo, lucky you, who do not have to translate your stories into foreign languages:). It is a killer, sorry I'm so slow.

.4. The Awakening

Coming to is the least pleasurable part of the process of loosing one's consciousness. Coming to, one already knows that something bad has happened. Usually, one feels crappy. And not completely understands how on earth one landed in a place, where one is momentarily lying.

Time Lords are almost human in the "coming to" respect. Of course they go through the process much quicker. Which actually means that they have less problems reorienting. And they usually jump up more eagerly.

Jumping up was not possible, because of steel shackles pinning the Doctor's wrists, shoulders and ankles to a steel table. Almost absolute darkness did not encourage reorientation. The Doctor struggled with shackles for a while, but shackles won.

"What?" said the Doctor. "What?!"

"A Time Lord." The voice in the darkness was high pitched, disturbing. "The last one, so I've heard. Doctor. The Doctor."

"Right, so I'm famous, and now take these off!"

"I like the present arrangement better, Doctor."

"It's a bad arrangement. It's a stupid arrangement. I can't talk in such an arrangement."

"But I prefer it when you are not able to move."

"Who are you? Why did you do that? And handcuffs...? Erm... I see you know me... apparently... why don't you tell me your name?"

"Why should I?" said the voice from the darkness. "I never introduce myself to my subjects."

"Subjects?"

"Test subjects. And usually I don't talk to them. But a Time Lord... I can make an exception for the Time Lord."

"Sub... I'm not a test subject! Take these shackles off me or..."

"No. Doctor."

"Listen, I'm warning you. I'm warning you for the last time. Release me now, and maybe we can still forget about what've just happened here. If not..."

"Then what?"

"I reckon you know me. So, if you really know who I am, you don't have to ask."

"That's the problem, Doctor. It's who you are – all that glaring and prattling. Do you know how I named you? The prestidigitator of words. Because all this, it is just a trickery, nothing more. A great Doctor in a wonderful TARDIS. A great mechanic in a wonderful wooden box. Armed with what? A sonic screwdriver. And what can you do with your sound thingy? Put on my screw?"

"I can do worse things. Much worse," Anger crept into the Doctor's voice. "I realise you still don't get it, but I'm very clever. Don't want to brag, but I'm a genius and I can always find a way out. And I may get interestingly mad. And when I'm mad, people and monsters usually get out of my way. Especially recently, 'cause I haven't been in the forgiving mood. And 'cause there's no one, who could stop me from putting on your screw much tighter than you can imagine."

"Aaah, Donna Noble," teased the darkness. "Much regretted Donna."

The Doctor's eyes widened for a moment.

"Who are you?" His voice was muffled. "WHO ARE YOU?!"

"Your greatest fan."

For a while the Doctor lay in silence, breathing quickly, trying to calm down two hearts beating too painfully.

"And I intend to see what it is that drives my idol," continued the voice from the darkness. "What makes you tick. And... oh... when I will find out why you are ticking... You know how it is with watches... So many parts you can never again fit in the bezel..."

"Let me go," said the Doctor quietly.

"Ummm... No."

Something clicked and a bright light flashed over the Doctor's head. Screwing his eyes to protect them from brightness, the Time Lord tried to catch sight of something outside its circle. To no result. He could see, more or less, the same thing as a hare caught in the lights of an approaching train. And he felt just like the hare.

"Do you know what really pleases me?" asked that irritating, high pitched voice. "The fact, that you are so lonely. The fact, that nobody is coming to save you. Nobody even knows where... and when... you are. The fact, that at last I can find out what the Doctor is worth without his men... Ah, and the fact, that I can at last take a peek inside you... I can find out what is bad for the Doctor. What hurts the Doctor. And what can do the Doctor a really big harm."

"Have I done something to you?" The Doctor's voice was just a whisper. "To make you hate me so much?"

His voice grew stronger.

"Identify yourself! Who are you? What is your name? What is your home planet? What is your species according to..."

"The Shadow Proclamation," mocked the voice. "Old dog, new tricks, huh? Never works."

"What? Aaah!" Something pierced the Doctor's skin, finding the vein through the layers of his coat, suit jacket and shirt's sleeves. Something whirred in the shadow, beyond the circle of light, and the Doctor realised that, with dreadful speed, the blood was being pumped out of his body.

"Don't do that. No. Just... Let's just talk... Oh, don't... don't do that."

Cold. He felt cold. His body tried to transport the remaining blood from the extremities to the centre, protecting internal organs and the brain. His teeth clattered as he fought the shackles.

"No."

His breathing was quick and shallow, and he was increasingly frightened. Both his hearts were pounding, trying to compensate the blood loss by pushing the rest of it faster through the arteries. Nevertheless, his body was starting to suffocate.

"I'll regenerate in a moment," he thought. But just then the whirring subsided and needles left his body.

"Yeeesss... Just as we thought," said the voice from the darkness.

"We? We who? Who... who you are? Who...? Wait... Who...?"

"Oh, my dear prince, sweet dreams."

The light went out. It was replaced by complete darkness and complete silence. The Doctor lay on his back in this silence, shivering and trying to catch his breath. He was petrified. He was so frightened. So very alone.