A/N: I still don't own anything that BBC owns. Not the Doctor, not Donna Noble, and not the coolness of bowties. I do own the Iaculi and Margaret.
"Where is the girl?" rasped a voice from within the shadows, dry and cold as a snake's. The pitch-dark shadows of the metal halls were sparsely punctuated by the occasional yellow-green bulb.
"I have brought her, Septhalos," another voice hissed in response. A pair of albino-white, chafed hands from the shadow shoved someone into the light; a little girl with flaming red hair and terror-struck wide eyes. Margaret quivered, staring from the darkness behind her to that before her.
Out of the shadow in front of the little girl stepped a man white as a winter frost. His head was completely bald, and his ears were tight to his head. The man's eyes were a shocking green, with skinny, snakelike pupils. His alabaster skin seemed scaly, shiny in places and dull in others. He smiled coldly, displaying a row of razor teeth. The girl whimpered.
Septhalos knelt down in front of Margaret, placing his long and skinny fingers lightly on her shoulders. "Hello, sweetheart," he rasped, a note of knife-sharp condescension in his voice. "I thought we'd never meet. So you're the one." He raised a hand to her forehead and let it drag lazily across her face, touching her features as though a blind man.
"I'm what one?" Margaret asked quietly, avoiding his eyes, shuddering as his scaly palm brushed her cheek. She recoiled, her little hands clasping beneath her chin.
He chortled. "If you only knew how powerful you were, little girl. Little Noble girl." He pinched her cheek with needle nails, making her cry out in shock. "Of course you don't look so mighty now, do you? But given time…oh, the things you'll do for me and my people. The Iaculi have never faced such potential."
He stood up, glared at the snake-man behind Margaret. "Coluber?"
"Yes, sir." The man who had brought Margaret stepped out of the shadows again, looking even more grotesquely reptilian than his counterpart.
"Take our little guest to somewhere she can spend the night. Find proper lodging for the most important woman in the universe." Obediently, Coluber lifted Margaret up by the waist and swung her over his shoulder, her tiny body limp and powerless in his massive, scaly hands. "We'll see you in the morning, Donna Noble."
I'm not Donna, Margaret thought quizzically. That's Mummy's name.
She closed her eyes, the swaying motion of the man holding her becoming nothing more than a lull. If she tried hard enough, she could pretend it was her daddy holding her. The daddy she'd never met.
That wasn't working. All that made her think was that her daddy wasn't good. That he worked for the bad guys. That he and Mummy were bad.
But of course they weren't.
She missed her mummy. She missed her already.
Margaret was scared, lonely, worried, tired. The habits of a four-year-old took over, and Margaret did what she always did when she was scared: she counted.
Now, let's see, there's one…two…three…
The lulling walk got shakier as Coluber began to ascend a flight of stairs.
Four…five…and then six, right?...eight…no, seven, then eight…
The shaking was over. The man came to an abrupt halt, but Margaret kept her eyes sealed shut.
And then there's…there's nine…and then ten…ten's my favorite…
She was thrown off of Coluber's shoulder and onto a thin, springy mattress. She heard a solid, metallic slamming noise, and no more light flooded through her eyelids.
There's ten…and then one ten…one ten…that's eleven...Eleven looks like two trees, or maybe two poles…like a jail…
I'm in a jail, for bad girls.
She wasn't a bad girl. She hadn't done anything wrong.
Had she?
Margaret opened her eyes, to let the tears fall out onto the mattress.
She woke up on the same mattress, in the same dark room. What's worse, she'd wet the bed. Embarrassed, the little girl rolled off the bed and onto the floor, bringing the pillow with her.
Not a minute after she had migrated from the urine-soaked bed to the floor, the metal door swung open, blinding light streaming into the room. Frightened, Margaret scooted up against the wall, clutching the pillow like a life raft. Her little eyes went wide.
A tall, skinny, youthful-looking man with huge brown eyes stuck his head into the room. He glanced around for a bit, before his gaze alighted on Margaret. He grinned a boyish grin.
"Hey there!" he said softly as he entered the room. Margaret pushed herself up against the bed, looking away and biting her lip, pillow still clutched between her arms. "Oh, it's alright!" he murmured, kneeling on the floor a ways from her. "I'm not going to hurt you. I promise."
Margaret met his eyes at the word promise. "You promise?" she whispered.
"I promise," the man repeated, and Margaret relaxed, retaining her hold on the pillow. The man shifted on his knees until he was comfortable. "You're not Donna, are you, little girl?"
"No, my mummy is Donna."
"I thought so. Then who are you?"
"I'm Margaret and I'm four."
"Nice to meet you, Margaret-and-I'm-four." The man shook her hand like a businessman would, making her giggle.
"What's your name?" Margaret asked, squeezing the pillow a little tighter.
"I don't have a name, Margaret," he responded.
"That's silly. Everyone has a name." Margaret spoke firmly.
"Well, you can call me the Doctor, then."
"That's not a name!" Margaret giggled.
The Doctor pretended to be ashamed. "It's my name. The Doctor."
"Like a doctor?" Margaret's eyes narrowed with a suspicious face identical to that of her mother. "Like the doctor who gived me a jab and telled Mummy that I had to eat yucky fish oil?" She shuddered at the thought. "Or like a doctor who helps people so they don't die?"
The Doctor's smile faltered for the shortest second before it came back. "I'm that kind. The helping kind."
"Oh, okay. That kind's okay."
A gentle silence fell over the room. Margaret stared at the Doctor's shirt.
"I like your bow."
"What, this?" The Doctor pointed to his bowtie. Margaret nodded. "My bowtie? Thanks. Bowties are cool."
"You're silly." Margaret giggled again.
"I am certainly not silly!" the Doctor mock-protested. As Margaret burst into rollicking laughter, a grating noise like shrieking steel shook the room.
Mirth draining from his face like blood, the Doctor pulled Margaret close to him, silent in an instant. Margaret suppressed a whimper, curling her legs to her chest. When no more grating noises followed, the Doctor stood up, hoisting Margaret onto his back.
"Come along, Margaret. Let's get you out."
Well, whaddya think? How's it going? Please R&R...and yes, I am in the process of writing Chapter 3.