A/N: Just saying—with what they have her doing, Alia's bound to be used to blood, and she certainly didn't hesitate before scratching up her face in Deliver Us from Evil. As such, blood ahead.
Alia's head was reeling. She'd lost count of how many lives she'd lived. She hadn't tried counting how many she'd cut short. She was terribly tired. And she knew, now, what people meant when they said they just felt dirty—except the dirt wasn't physical, and she couldn't easily wash it away. It was there, no matter what she did, and she left traces of the grime wherever she leaped. It was just as the Doctor had said: she was staining lives. And she would keep doing it, like he had said, because it had worked.
And now she was caught.
It wouldn't be forever, he'd said. She had to remember that. There was a chance, sometime, that she'd get out. If she made the right choices, when the time came. If she remembered what he'd told her. But how could she remember it all when so much of it hadn't made sense?
Alia climbed to her feet. She felt stiff. Then again, she wasn't sure how long she'd been lying there. After her first few leaps, they'd checked up on her immediately upon her return. Now, they seemed satisfied. Her condition wasn't going to change, so they didn't need to waste so much time looking after her.
It granted her a modicum of freedom, actually.
She certainly wouldn't have it after this, but she thought that, perhaps, it was a worthwhile venture. She'd bought herself time by establishing a routine. They thought she was faithful. Mindless. They wouldn't suspect that she'd break what had become habit-certainly not for what she was planning, not when she knew the consequences.
But she had to. It wasn't just for answers, not anymore. She still wanted them, and she intended to get them, or at least most of them, if not every one. But she felt so tainted now, and she thought, perhaps, if she could just do one good deed…. It wouldn't erase what she'd done or compensate for it, and it certainly wouldn't excuse her from what she would be doing in the future, for she knew she'd continue, but…. It would make her feel better, inside, to know she'd done it once, and damn the consequences.
What doesn't kill you makes you stronger. They encouraged that line of thinking; she didn't feel remotely bad about using it against them, and she'd be stronger for this. When the time came to make that choice the Doctor had been telling her about—or choices; she wasn't sure whether he'd meant it to be plural or singular anymore—she'd be able to make it. She'd be strong enough to do what she needed to.
It was the only door in the facility she'd seen yet with a normal lock and key. The one door that Lothos didn't control. Zoey held the key for this, but Alia didn't need it. She'd been taught how to pick locks, and she ought to be able to do it quickly enough to have time to get the Doctor out of there, out of isolation, before they thought to check up on her and realize what she was doing.
Providing that he was still in there. Or at least that he was in there now. But he hadn't been in the Holding Chamber, and Zoey's attitude hadn't improved any.
Alia opened the door without difficulty. The room was dark and she supposed the temperature hovered around freezing, but she'd expected that, or at least something of that sort. She hadn't expected to find the Doctor chained to the wall, each limb limply splayed out, head lolling forward on a sagging body.
She felt for a pulse.
He was colder than the room itself.
She wouldn't get answers now.
"I'm sorry," she whispered, repeating his words back to him even though he couldn't hear her. Dropping to her knees, she set about freeing him, legs first. She wasn't sure why, and she wasn't sure what she'd do once she had him off the wall, but even after everything she'd had to do, she would still feel awful just leaving him there to hang like a side of meat in the cold room. Slowly decaying.
Her fingers were numb now, and it took her longer than she would have liked.
She started to regret her decision, but it was too late for that. Lothos would know, and Zoey would come. And then it would begin. Zoey knew just how far to go, precisely how far to push it. She knew how to draw out death, causing excruciating pain and extending life so that the pain never seemed to end.
Alia struggled a bit with the Doctor's dead weight, but she managed to get to her chamber. She didn't know why, exactly, she'd gone there, but she didn't have another choice. It was the only place she could go. It was the only place Lothos would automatically open when she came near. It wasn't like the accelerator chamber, which opened when Thames began setting the coordinates for the leap. She could pass by it without it budging when she wasn't set to leap.
She manoeuvred the Doctor's body onto her bed and looked down at him. "I'm sorry," she told him again. "I don't know why you came, but if it really was for me, like they thought, you shouldn't have come. I'm certainly not worth it. Maybe you were just trying to right something in your past, but you came to the wrong place to do that. You can't come here and escape unscathed, if you even escape at all." She fell silent again, feeling a bit foolish. She'd hardly known him, after all. He'd just…intrigued her.
She noticed the faint mark on his hand. That's where the chip lay, hidden just beneath the skin. She wanted to take it out. It wasn't part of the body. It may have even caused the death, though she doubted anyone who worked on this particular project would be so merciful as to allow that. But she didn't have the tools to take it out. No sterile swabs, no scalpel, or anything of that sort.
But she did have fingernails.
Sharp ones.
It would be messy, and it would be crude, but it would serve the purpose. It would get the job done. It didn't have to be pretty. It wasn't as if the Doctor was going to get a proper burial anyway. By the time they were through, there might not even be a body at all. With Dr. Fletcher, they'd only had to scatter the ashes and file a false report.
Alia picked at the skin on the Doctor's hand. The cold flesh felt different, somehow. She was reminded of the times, oh so long ago, when she'd done dissections in school. Preserved flesh felt a bit like this, she supposed, but then she'd had gloves. She hadn't wanted to touch it directly. But this had that same feeling, like it wouldn't yield, but would if she could just make that first cut.
She thought it would be thick and tough, that she'd have to shred her way through, layer by layer. Instead, the flesh tore easily enough once she'd gotten started.
It only took a few more moments to dislodge the chip. She hoped she hadn't missed anything, but it didn't really matter. She was acting on principle. A fool's principle, perhaps, and she'd be reminded of that when they punished her, but now, she thought it noble. She meant well. And intention, she thought, really did matter. Entire situations changed depending on intention. It couldn't be ignored.
She would have liked to crush the chip, but she wasn't strong enough to do that.
She settled for throwing it across the room before turning back to the Doctor's body. There was still blood, leaking from his hand, staining hers. Her nails were coated in it, the little creases in her skin flooded with it. It was sticky more than slippery, she thought, and she couldn't wipe it off. It would rub off better when it dried.
She folded the Doctor's arms over his chest. The blood would stop coming then, without gravity to slowly impel it out of the veins.
Only it didn't.
Some of it started to clot and form a scab, but her extracting of the chip hadn't exactly been delicate, and she'd torn out a far larger area than she might have done, had she had sharper tools. And she could still see the blood welling up in the middle, slowly but steadily growing into an ever larger mound.
She found this disturbingly fascinating, and it took her a moment to regain her senses and feel for a pulse again. She couldn't find one, but she was cold, and the body was still cold. He wasn't asleep; he would have woken up when she was tearing at his skin if he had simply been sleeping. He would have to be unconscious, perhaps concussed.
She couldn't see his chest rising or falling, so she held a bloodied hand over his face, trying to feel him exhale.
Perhaps he was dead after all.
Pushing his hands aside, she pressed an ear to his chest, holding her breath and trying to ignore the pounding of her own heart in her ears.
It was a long moment before she could discern anything, but she was certain she heard something. It wasn't a normal heartbeat, however slow it was. She heard a rapid succession of four, blood moving into the heart and then out again, in and out, and then a long silence. But however abnormal it sounded, it still proved that he was alive.
"Doctor?" Alia asked, shaking him gently. It had no effect, of course.
She wondered how long he'd been out. When was the last time they'd checked on him? She had no way of knowing how serious his condition was; she had no training in caring for people. Even those with medical training in this facility weren't likely to help, knowing what awaited them if they did. Even the Doctor hadn't defied them outright. He'd complied, deciphering the handlink and helping them to understand time travel. All he'd done was withhold information from them, and that's why he was in the state he was now. For being uncooperative. But he hadn't tried to sabotage them.
The pool of blood on the Doctor's hand had smeared now, but most of it had dried. There were only a few glimmering trails of red left.
It was curious that she was still alone, that they hadn't come for her yet. Lothos would have known what was happening. Why hadn't he reported it to Zoey? Surely nothing was to be gained by waiting. Or perhaps this was yet another test. If it were, she'd probably failed it by now. Unless their intention was to grate upon her nerves. She was more susceptible to their suggestions when she was jumpy, unsure of herself, because she leaned on them for support, even though she knew their support couldn't uphold her forever, not in a way she liked.
But it was still support.
The lights dimmed overhead. Lothos hadn't reported her, then. Life was proceeding as usual. She'd remembered to close to the door to the isolation chamber, but she hadn't locked it. They would know something had gone off, then. She wondered whether they'd be more frantic over the Doctor's disappearance or their lack of knowledge about it.
She couldn't think clearly. She knew they'd come after her. It wouldn't be long before they found out. But she was so very tired and felt even more exhausted now that the room was dark. Slumping down to lie on the floor, Alia soon fell asleep.
In a quick succession of sensations, the Doctor realized that the air temperature, humidity, and pressure were normal, that he wasn't chained to the wall but rather lying on the boards that passed as beds in this place, and that his right hand stung. Felt like someone had been at it with couple of dull knives. That was perhaps why he could smell blood.
He opened his eyes and lay there for a moment longer. It was dark but hardly the pitch black of the isolation chamber, so he knew he'd been here before. It wasn't the room they'd allotted for him; it was Alia's. That explained why he wasn't alone; she was there, on the floor, and he didn't need to see well to guess that she was probably covered with his blood. He could smell it on her, just as he could smell it on himself.
The Doctor wrinkled his nose and began rummaging in his pockets. Deciding that he'd best not wake Alia yet, he fished out a torch rather than his sonic screwdriver. He also found a couple of handkerchiefs, and they looked clean, but they weren't much use to him dry, and he didn't have any water on him. Still, it was better than nothing. Unless…yes, he did still keep it in here, that medical kit. Excellent. He could patch his hand up now, more or less. Enough so that he could use it without having it scrape against everything.
It wasn't his best job, but he had only been using one hand, so it certainly sufficed. He was just finishing up, slipping the medical kit back into his pocket, when Alia stirred. He hadn't meant to wake her, but he wasn't sure whether it was the light or the rustling of his movements. Either way, she was awake and gawking at him. He wondered how bloodied he was; he hadn't looked.
"Hello," he said, grinning. "Sorry to wake you."
"Are you…all right?"
"Just dandy!"
"But you were…. I mean, I thought…."
"It's just a scrape," the Doctor explained, nodding down at his hand. "Nothing serious."
"I tore the chip out," she said—slowly, as if she thought he'd snap at her.
"So that's what happened. I did wonder. Couldn't recall being stripped of my skin earlier." She still looked doubtful, almost fearful, so he added, "It'll heal quickly enough, and I would have had to take that out anyway."
"But your head," Alia started again. "I can't tell, and you must have gotten hit."
He shook his head. "No. Just tired."
"You weren't just asleep when I dragged you in here," she protested. "I've had sessions with Zoey; I know what she does. You can't recover that quickly."
The Doctor sighed. "Alia, trust me. I was exhausted. I needed to replenish my energy, and my body needed to heal itself. It crept up on me, and I let it. So, I'm fine now. I wasn't before, but I am now."
She looked like she wanted to argue, but she didn't. "Where did you get that flashlight?" she asked instead. Frowning, she added, "For that matter, where did you get the bandages?"
"I've got deep pockets." He offered the torch to her. "I've got another if you'd like one."
"You can't have," she said, looking him up and down.
"You've known me long enough to know that I've got a few tricks up my sleeve," the Doctor reminded her. He pulled another torch out of his pocket, just to prove his point. "See?" he asked, turning it on.
She shook her head. Denial, he guessed. And he was right, because she started, "You can't be fine. I'd thought you were dead, and now you're pulling flashlights out of your pocket like a magician with his scarves!"
"I've those, too," the Doctor admitted. "And I can pull a coin from your ear. And make one disappear. Look here," he said, pulling a coin from his pocket—currency from ancient Rome, judging by its weight and feel, but that wouldn't matter—and showing it to her. He put his hands behind his back, hiding it, and then drew his fists forth. "Pick one," he urged, grinning like a maniac.
"Doctor, we don't have time for this."
"Oh, just go on, pick one. Won't take but a minute. Humour an old man."
She looked like she was biting back one comment or another at that, but nevertheless picked his uninjured hand. He opened it, showing her that there was nothing there. Then he showed her the other one, also empty, before reaching out and pulling the coin from behind her ear. "There, see?" he asked. "I'd practiced until I could do it. Only took a few hours. Granted, I seem to recall being locked up then, too."
"How long did Zoey keep you in isolation?" Alia asked pointedly.
"Ooh, let me see." The Doctor thought for a moment. How long had he been in the healing coma? A day? Half of one? Two? "At a stretch, I wouldn't say longer than thirty-six hours. But, on and off, could be five, six times that. No matter. I'm out now, and they won't be able to get me back. Not without that chip of theirs, and especially not when I'm in this shape. Look at me; think they could take me? Nah. Too alert. Bright-eyed and bushy-tailed."
"You're babbling," Alia noted dully. She didn't seem to think it was a good sign.
The Doctor shrugged. "I have a tendency to do that this time around. Funny thing, those tendencies. But, yes. I'll try not to digress. It's just that there are so many tangents that are so interesting to pursue, if you try. And—sorry, right, matter at hand. I'm fine. Chipper. Just needed a bit of a rest, that's all. Better now."
"Did you tell them anything? At the end, did Zoey manage to—?"
"Get me to talk? Break me? Snap my wits? Nah." The Doctor waved a hand dismissively. "Can't say she was particularly pleased about that. Probably was planning to have another go at me. I have to thank you for saving me from that. I didn't exactly find those sessions pleasant. Interesting, yes, because I have to be curious as to where she learned those techniques. Not exactly the sort of thing you'd pick up in school, not in these days. And she'd mastered them. I'd say she learned from an expert, which is impressive, because you'd be hard pressed to find someone who knows so much about torture chambers of the 1100s nowadays. Could be self-taught, I suppose, but I'd hate to have been one of her test subjects earlier on. Still. When you think about—"
"Doctor, please, I'm trying to figure out how much time we have," Alia broke in.
"How much time we have for what?"
"Before they find us."
"Oh, you mean before they discover that you got me out of there? Well, if you keep calm, I'm sure it won't be for a little while yet. See, I've had a bit of time to think. I'd been debating about fitting Lothos with an inhibitor, but I never got around to it. And, you know, I'm not sure if I need to. Probably still should, just to be safe. Won't hurt if they can't find it, after all, and I'll make sure they can't."
"What do you mean?"
"When I first came here, I intrigued Lothos. And in the time I spent working around him, he learned about me. How could he not? And he's not as slow as the rest of you lot. Ziggy certainly wasn't. She's, ah, another sort of…. Never mind." The Doctor waved Aila's questions away. "Thing is, he doesn't want me dead. I'm far too useful. Means he doesn't want me to escape, either, and I'm sure he'll put up a fight once he realizes what I'm up to, but I'm resourceful enough and I'll win. But Lothos wants to know what I can survive, what my limits are, and exactly how resourceful and ingenious I am. He's set up this game, you see. It's not respect, not really. It's a thirst for knowledge, a battle of wits. And I'm going to win it."
"You're awfully confident, considering you were unconscious and probably in a coma," Alia muttered.
"I'm all the better for that."
"You can't be, not if you're thinking like this," Alia cried. "You can't outwit Lothos. He knows everything. He—"
"Doesn't know why I came here any more than you do," the Doctor interrupted. "You see, evil computers and their games…. I've played before, and it's all the same, really. And if I've won before, I can win again. Granted, I usually have help. But you've helped me, haven't you, Alia? You helped me out of isolation. Why?"
She was caught off her guard by the question. "I wanted to do something good."
"Did you? Well, you have. Now, and before, and yet to come."
"You aren't making sense."
"Never seem to when I'm in a rush. Never have time to explain properly. Not that I always do explain properly. Half the time it's best to leave everyone with their questions, wouldn't you say?" Alia shook her head, and the Doctor grinned. He knew she had questions. That was probably half the reason she came to get him. "All right, then. We've a minute or two. What did you want to ask?"
She didn't say anything for a moment. Probably sifting through her thoughts, he figured, trying to pick out a pertinent one in the current situation, one that could actually be answered. "How did you mange this, putting it all together? You did it so quickly."
He grinned at her again. "Just like I told the guard at the gate. I've got experience."
"In what?"
He could see her piecing things together, with what he'd told her earlier. And…judging by her comprehension, something else as well. Perhaps he ran into her again after all. Ah, well; it's been done, and he'd let it happen again. He let his grin grow to manic proportions, saying in a cheery voice, "Precisely!"
"But…. But you…. I…. You can't mean…."
"Can't I? Who's to say what I can and can't mean? Certainly not you. My meanings are my own, aren't they? Well, my own and…no, still just my own, I suppose, though I'd have to say it's a bit split, if I did…. No, no, still separate, I think. Yes. Separate. Wholly my own. This me, mind. My own now. Currently my own." He'd lost her now. Just as well. Leaping into his future self wasn't the easiest thing to explain, even if she had a good chance of knowing what he meant. It would be much easier for her to understand if he'd leaped into his past self, but he hadn't. From his other self's perspective, he was the past self, and therefore Sam's leap into him had caused the splintering. Well. That, and it had been too early anyway, that leap, going wrong as it had.
Funny, though. What Sam had leaped in to do, to fix, the wrong he had to right— It wasn't something he'd ever think of. It was the sort of thing he missed. Which was perhaps why Sam had needed to be the one to change things.
Hold on. He shouldn't know that. That wasn't his knowledge. He was thinking about the conclusions his other self had come to, conclusions that he hadn't known. And, yes, there they were, a few misplaced neurons. He carefully separated them. He'd have to watch it. They were more likely to meld in with everything else more easily now that he'd let it happen once. "Sorry," he corrected, "not wholly my own after all. Meaning, that is. I was…being influenced. Just a little bit." Alia was giving him a look that Martha had given him all too often in 1969. Before that, too, actually. He shrugged apologetically. Perhaps more time had passed than he'd thought.
"Be that as it may," Alia finally said, still looking at him like he was a madman and she expected him to go off at any moment, "whoever you are, and whatever you can do, and wherever…whenever you come from, and regardless of whomever you're pretending to be—"
"Oh, I'm not pretending to be anyone. I'm me, through and through. A tiny bit's a little more experienced, that's all. Which is helpful, actually. I'll need to use that bit, carefully, so I can make sure everything's set properly. I'd hate to think that it'll unravel on me the moment I leave."
"You're speaking in riddles again."
"Sometimes I have to," the Doctor replied simply. "Safer that way."
"But you—"
"Really shouldn't be chitchatting now that Zoey's discovered I've gone for a stroll," the Doctor cut in. "So, I'll have to cut our visit short. You'll remember what I told you, yes? Beforehand? The balance between good and evil and choices and all that?"
"I mean to, yes, but how can you know that Zoey—?"
"I can hear her," the Doctor answered. "And she's walking quite quickly, so I'm going to assume that she's very angry. I've only a few more things to do here. Might not have time to put that inhibitor in like I wanted to, seeing as Lothos may not be quite so accommodating now that he's realized I might have a chance at beating him at his own game, but I will be able to wipe the records of my time here. And, perhaps, well, tweak something while I'm at it. With the retrieval system. And, Alia, you'll have to forgive me for that, and trust that I know best, because I do, especially in this case." He pocketed his torch and the coin and pulled out his sonic screwdriver instead.
Alia sat there, stunned. Using his sonic screwdriver, he turned the lights on low and carefully removed the torch from her hands, clicking it off. "I've got to run," he said. "I imagine that they'll want you to leap. You might think it's terrible, but you'll survive it, whatever they put you through. And you'll be brilliant, when the time comes. I just know you will." He turned the screwdriver on the door, jumping up from the bench they called a bed and hopping from foot to foot, impatient when the door didn't open quickly enough.
"But…am I even going to see you again, ever?" Alia cried as he ducked out the door.
He looked back and smiled at her. "Perhaps. I'll see you, right enough, or at least that's what I'm assuming, but will you see me? I haven't the slightest. Maybe if I'm lucky."
"And will you answer my questions then?" she called as he turned away.
He glanced back at her. "Everyone always has questions," he said. "And however many you answer, they'll always have more." He gave her a bright grin. "I'll be seeing you!"