Chapter 13 - New Year's Eve
It had been nearly a week of being held in the cells.
Jack and John had been progressively interrogating him, getting more and more severe as the days passed, but he still refused to give up any information or the Tardis. His shoulder was dislocated and his left arm broken, but they hadn't bothered getting him any treatment. He'd made some makeshift bandages instead from ripping his shirt, but he was acutely aware that he was being more and more wounded, which meant more and more blood, which, just as he'd suspected, he'd become more and more tempting to Ex-Rose.
When the soldiers had retrieved him the first time they had realised that he wasn't an Ex and had been baffled that Ex-Rose hadn't attacked him. He'd just shrugged and suggested she was full. Thankfully they'd taken that reason, but had been careful to put him back in the other cell ever since. He desperately didn't want to draw any attention to it.
As he became more and more injured with every passing day, Ex-Rose became more and more desperate for him. The smell of his Time Lord blood was clearly driving her crazy. He supposed that his Time Lord blood was slightly more exotic than human blood - like humans were bread and butter and he was a Michelin star chef's signature dish. Occasionally she'd throw herself at the bars between them, her teeth bared, but she couldn't get through.
Though they were feeding him, he wasn't eating it. They weren't feeding her, so he always put his plate through the bars and backed off quickly, hoping the smell of meat would attract her. It did, and she'd ferociously consumed the food each time. He did it partly as a means of not letting her starve to death, but also to hopefully stop her looking at him like he was a Chocolate Parfait. It barely worked.
Jack and John usually had him for around two hours a day and he was allowed one toilet break a day, heavily supervised of course. Despite that, he'd been trying desperately to check his surroundings for an idea of an escape route, but nothing feasible had stirred in his brain yet. Jack and John had a clearly anticipated everything.
He'd continued to hallucinate, but he'd persistently ignored them, which was easier said than done as he spent all day locked in a cell, no visitors, no distractions and no sleep. He was too scared to sleep. He was well aware that if this kept on, he'd be dead before Spring.
On New Year's Eve he was taken to the interrogation room. Jack strolled in where the Doctor was on the floor, a cosh in the Time Agent's hand. The Doctor had no doubt he was about to feel the end of it. He'd become used to it by now.
"New year, new chance," Jack declared, weighing the cosh in his hand. "Give me what I want. I'm not gonna ask nicely next year."
The Doctor internally sighed. "No comment," he muttered.
Jack sighed heavily. "All right," he said. "Stand up."
Cautiously the Doctor got up, balancing himself on the wall.
Jack stepped forward, raising the cosh. The Doctor flinched and tensed, but to his complete surprise Jack wasn't bringing it down on him.
He was holding it out to the Doctor.
"Take it," the Time Agent instructed. The Doctor did so, completely confused. "Now give me your best shot."
In half a second of the few that followed the Doctor realised what Jack was doing. But he already knew he wasn't going to hurt Jack no matter what. So as Jack started running towards him, the Doctor dropped the cosh onto the floor, and stood immobile, his eyes closed…
Later, Jack reviewed the footage from the interrogation. He always did this, just in case the subject had said something he'd missed whilst he was doing his business – or indeed which techniques had worked the best.
"New year, new chance," Jack heard himself say. "Give me what I want. I'm not gonna ask nicely next year."
"No comment," the mysterious Doctor man muttered.
"All right," Jack said. "Stand up."
The Time Lord stood up, unbalanced.
Jack offered him the cosh. "Take it. Now give me your best shot."
Then as Jack stared at the Doctor, he went completely cold. The Doctor had dropped the cosh before Jack had even reached him. He hadn't realised before.
He watched in horror through the twenty minute recording – he had thought the Doctor was just a weakling but now he realised the Doctor had in fact not attacked at all – only defended. Not even a punch. Nothing. He'd taken the beating completely without a fight...
Jack ordered the guards to bring the Doctor to him immediately in the interrogation room. When he'd arrived he was dazed, bleeding and barely conscious, but Jack didn't care. He marched in, grabbed the Time Lord's lapels and held him an inch from his face. "Why the fuck didn't you attack me?!"
The Doctor only coughed in reply, barely able to keep his eyes open. Jack screamed and threw him down on the floor, planting a few more kicks in his side out of sheer frustration before backing away, forcing himself to calm down with a few deep breaths.
"Okay," he began again, pacing up and down in front of the Doctor's body. "I gave you a weapon, I gave you a motivation..." He stopped dead in his tracks, his eyes wide as he spun around and yelled in delight, "it was a double-bluff, wasn't it?!"
The Doctor wheezed on the floor, struggling to breath. Jack's expression fell. No, it wasn't that.
He stooped to the Doctor, looking down at him seriously. "Why didn't you attack me?"
The Doctor swallowed, shaking. "I... would never... hurt you," he breathed.
Jack stared at him, brow furrowed. "What? What do I matter to you?"
"I can't... tell you."
Jack blinked. "What? Is this future me? How do I know you?"
"I... can't tell... you."
Jack's anger boiled, but he just about managed to put the lid on it. "Well, you'd better start talking fast," he snapped. "Because this only getting worse, Time Lord. I'll shoot your girlfriend, I swear to god."
"You… You don't want to… to do that," the Doctor gasped. Jack was about to dismiss this, when he realised there was real, honest emotion in the Time Lord's eyes.
"What the hell aren't you telling me?" Jack wanted to know, but the Time Lord had passed out.
Jack screamed in frustration and ordered the guards to take the Doctor back to his cell before he stormed out. He'd get it out of him tomorrow, even if the Time Lord was proving a tough nut to crack.
The Doctor woke up somewhere near midnight, only to discover his guards were gone and his cell door was absolutely caked in chains. He could hear celebrations happening beyond his cell - the joyous cries of drunk soldiers celebrating. Music was pumping, glasses were smashing and someone had even managed to get vuvuzelas and party horns.
Their camaraderie was so distant to him.
"Everyone get ready, countdown's coming!" a muted voice yelled through the layers of walls from the gathering.
They were counting down the new year.
He looked at Ex-Rose. She was looking up, as if pausing to listen.
"New year," he breathed in realisation, wincing as he moved to the bars that separated them. "Rose, do you remember new year? After I regenerated?"
She wasn't even looking at him.
"We went to the London Eye to watch the fireworks with your mum and Mickey," he persisted. "You forgot your gloves so you held onto my hands to get your hands warm, but my right hand still made you cringe. Then your mum went out partying, Mickey went home to get up for work and you and me went back to watch the stars from the roof of the flats. Do you remember that?"
She didn't seem to even hear him. His heart sank. Maybe it had been too long. Maybe Rose was gone, now.
"Ten! Nine! Eight! Seven! Six! Five! Four! Three! Two! One! Happy new year!" Hundreds of people cried simultaneously. The music became louder, people laughed and shouted and cheered.
"Happy new year, Rose," he muttered.
He got no response.
He dropped to the hard, cold floor, trying not to move too much in a way that would disturb his broken bones. He was so tired. Maybe if he went to sleep, just maybe it would be dreamless?
"Doctor!" came a sudden hiss from outside his cell. The Doctor looked up in surprise.
"Chris?" he asked weakly.
"Oh fuck," Chris muttered, staring at him. "They've beaten the shit out of you, haven't they? Here. I know you don't get enough food."
He slid a plate of party food through the slot in the cell door. Tuna sandwiches, crisps, bread sticks and cheese and pineapple canapés. The Doctor's stomach rumbled at the sight. There was no meat on the plate, and Ex-Rose wasn't remotely interested. The Doctor crawled forward, grunting with pain as he reached the plate and took it.
"Thank you," the Doctor said sincerely.
"You're welcome."
The Doctor picked up a canapé, pulling it all off of the stick in one motion with his teeth. Never had canapés tasted so good. The cheese was squishy and lovely, coating the inside of his mouth, and the pineapple exploded with tasty, refreshing juice as he bit into it. He decided then and there that if he ever got out of here, he would travel to whoever invented canapés and kiss their shoes.
After he managed to clean his mouth of cheese with his tongue he looked up at Chris, confused. "Why are you helping me?"
Chris shrugged. "The Captain says you're a spy but I don't believe a word of it. What's he done you in for?"
"He wants my ship and I'm not giving it to him," the Doctor answered.
Ship? So you're not a soldier."
The Doctor shook his head, stuffing the next canape into his mouth. "We landed here by accident."
Chris nodded, his gaze drifting to Ex-Rose. "Crap, she really is an Ex. I'm so sorry. She was nice."
"I'll cure her," the Doctor replied shortly and tersely.
Chris just nodded at that, before leaning closer in. "Hey, look, if there's anything you want me to do… and I mean anything," he emphasised, gazing at the Doctor with wide eyes. "Just say, all right?"
The Doctor nodded slowly. "Okay."
"There's a guard posted on you, his name's Trent," Chris continued lowly, repeatedly glancing at the outer door. "He'll get a message to me."
The Doctor nodded again silently.
"Happy new year," Chris finished, offering him a small smile. "I'd better get back before they miss me."
"Thank you," the Doctor said again quickly.
Chris gave a mock salute. "You're welcome," he said, and then he was gone.
The Doctor retreated to the corner of his cell, hoarding his party food. It was pathetic, he thought, how he savoured every little bite like a starved hamster. But he ate it gratefully in the perpetual silence of his cell.
Jack and John were sitting in the middle of the party, both slightly drunk. The New Year's party had been the soldiers' idea, and Jack had to admit it had been quite a good one. It had been a while since they'd got some alcohol.
But he couldn't stop thinking about the Time Lord, and why he hadn't attacked. Jack had given him a weapon to give him a fair fight, but he hadn't used it. What kind of man would do that?
He looked at John, who was busy chatting up a good-looking blond soldier next to him. Jack elbowed him to get his attention, and John rolled his eyes, waving the soldier away.
"What?" he asked.
"I don't think the Time Lord's giving up his info. I don't think we should keep interrogating him. It's going nowhere."
John rolled his eyes. "Well darling, if you will insist on talking about work."
"I'm serious."
"He's playing you," he told Jack. "He didn't attack you so you'd get mopey like this. You know Time Lords. Slippery little things. Wouldn't trust him as far as I could throw him."
Jack was unsure. "I dunno. He took a hell of a beating."
"He's used to it, he's Time Lord," John said seriously. "The Daleks were torture professionals in the Time War, all the Time Lords got trained to tune out pain."
"He's not tuning out," Jack said seriously. "He's just taking it."
"Well, maybe we should hug, kiss, apologise and invite him to join the party?" John wondered, somewhat sarcastically.
Jack threw him a look. "God, I'm getting another drink," he muttered, standing up. John just rolled his eyes and stood up too, going off to find that soldier again.
Jack reached the drink table, about to pour himself another hyper-vodka when he saw one of the Time Lord's guards in the corner. Jack frowned, moving to her. "Hey, Private."
The soldier turned abruptly, saluted, and almost fell over. "Zir?" she slurred.
"Who the hell's guarding the cells?"
"Dun't worry, zir," the soldier said. "He s'not geshhing out. Shained up she door."
"You chained up the door?" Jack clarified.
"Yesh," the soldier replied. She still hadn't ceased her salute. "And we gosh 'im in the righ' shell thish time."
"You got him in the right cell? What the hell does that mean?" Jack demanded to know, stepping forward.
The soldier finally dropped her salute to put her hand over her mouth in an, 'oops!' motion. "Whupsh," she said, horrified at what she'd said.
"Private!" Jack snapped, irritated.
"The Esch didn't eat 'im, shokay."
"Wait, you put him in the wrong cell and the Ex didn't eat him?" Jack clarified. The soldier nodded. "Why the hell not?"
The soldier just made a melodramatic shrugging motion, and immediately started giggling.
Jack rolled his eyes, about to move away when the soldier in front of him suddenly began to choke on her own drunken giggles. Her eyes widened, she grabbed her head, screamed and hit the floor within the space of three seconds before immediately beginning to convulse.
Immediately the crowd began to panic and scatter - everyone knew what this was. She was turning into an Ex. But how, why?
There was another yell from across the room. Another one!?
"Evacuate!" Jack shouted, and immediately the stampede began. People run in one mass to the door, trying desperately to get out. No one was armed.
Somehow, everyone managed to get out while the changed humans were unconscious. Jack shut the door and locked it tight.
"End of the party!" he announced to the milling crowd. "Go to bed!" He pulled aside the most sober-looking guard. "Get the prisoner from the cells and bring him here."
"Sir!" the guard said, snapping a salute and running off.
The Doctor had only just finished his food when the scream and yells of alarm began in the distance. There was only one explanation for it. Pretty soon a cluster of guards arrived at his cell, quickly clamping his hand in chains and taking him out of the cell. He could barely walk so they half-dragged him urgently through the corridors. but they weren't going to the interrogation room. They were going up the stairs back to the main base.
He was thrown at Jack's feet just outside the eating area. Jack looked down at him, grabbed his arm and hauled him up.
"Little bird tells me you didn't get attacked by the Ex," Jack said. "Thought I'd test a theory."
"What!?" the Doctor almost choked out. "Jack, they'll kill me!"
"Oh yeah?" Jack wondered, opened the door and threw him inside the abandoned eating area. Jack shut the door behind him and locked it.
The Doctor wasn't accustomed to panicking, but right now he was. He had no way of knowing but he was pretty sure that Ex-Rose hadn't attacked him because of the Rose left in her. He didn't know these people. They would rip him apart for his Time Lord meat...
He struggled to his feet, crying out but desperately trying to ignore the pain as he got to the porthole in the door. He banged the fist of his unbroken arm on the porthole frantically. He couldn't die. He didn't have time to go through regeneration. He had to save Rose.
"Jack!" he yelled. "She didn't attack me because there was a bit of Rose left, I don't know them, they'll kill me!"
The Doctor could see Jack's face staring at him through the porthole. He didn't believe him.
"Jack!" the Doctor urged, but he suddenly heard something from behind him. He turned, panicked, to find two Exes rising up, staring at him with the same carnivorous lust he'd been seeing in the face of Rose for a week. Except this time, there were no bars to protect him.
They began to run forward.