Okay guys, this will be the most trigger-heavy chapter of the story. There's guns, blood, mortal wounds, and near sexual assault. I put a warning before the assault happens and bolded text when it finishes, in case you want to read the chapter but skip that part. If you want to skip the chapter entirely, I'll put a non-triggering summary at the beginning of the next chapter, or you can message me for a more complete one. I took every precaution I could so you can read this story without getting triggered. I hope you can enjoy.

Chapter 14- The Hole Gets Deeper

You know that feeling you get when you finally solve a really hard math problem and you're relieved, but you realize the answer is wrong and only makes the situation worse? Imagine those sensations multiplied about a hundred times, and you get an accurate read on my emotions. In fact, I remember thinking that I preferred not knowing at all. Ignorance really is bliss.

Whittaker looked up, distracted from cuffing my left wrist to the chair. "What did you say?" he asked threateningly.

"You were all prisoners, weren't you?!" I exclaimed. "This is a prison ship, and you all had a mutiny and you took it over!"

Whittaker straightened up. "You're smarter than I thought you were," he spat. "Yes, we're a prison ship. Briggs led the mutiny. That's why he's in charge."

Of course he's not a real captain, I thought to myself. He called the ship an "it"! No real captain does that. It's always a "she."

"Unfortunately, the mutiny badly damaged the ship," Whittaker continued, "and it wasn't in the best shape to begin with."

"That's why you need the Doctor," I said. "To fix it up for you."

Whittaker nodded. "We've heard the theories about the Prisoner of the Pandorica," he said, "and we thought—"

"What's the Pandorica?" I interrupted, momentarily forgetting that the speaker had a gun and seemed perfectly fine with using it.

Whittaker sneered. "I guess you're not as smart as I thought you were," he said gloatingly. "There's a story out there about your little friend. Long ago, near the beginning of time on Earth, a trap was lain for him. You see, your precious Doctor's far older than he looks, and he has quite a few more enemies than most. All those enemies came together to lure him into that trap, sealing him away. And as a result, the universe died."

I listened to the tale with great interest. So what had the Doctor been up to before he met me? "But the universe can't die," I interrupted. "It's not alive to begin with."

"The universe wasn't killed," Whittaker corrected irritably. "Not killed, so much as torn apart. You see, that blue box he travels around in suddenly exploded as the Pandorica was sealed, and the force of the explosion created cracks throughout every moment in history, destroying time itself."

"Then what?"

"Then he fought his way out of the Pandorica and sealed the cracks in the universe," Whittaker finished. "No one really knows how."

"How do they know it happened at all?" I asked. "I mean, it sounds like a fairy tale."

"People have seen the blue box throughout history," he answered. "Always looking exactly the same. There are different passengers, but the box is always the same. And if the box was exploding through every moment in time…"

"It would always look the same," I finished. So the Doctor's a superhero. Eh, I can deal with it. Of course, the story might not be true, but this is the Doctor we're talking about. If he saved the universe, I'd believe it. "So you saw the legendary blue box and took it hostage because you needed a genius to fix your ship."

"Yes," Whittaker said, a strange change in his voice. "Now we have the Doctor, and now we have you." He tilted his head. "You know, it's been so long since any of us have seen a woman. A men's-only prison can get pretty lonely."

My heart began pounding again. I didn't like the way he was looking at me. I think I was more afraid of him than the gun. He suddenly ducked down and fiddled with my handcuff. I stayed completely still, like I would if a bee began flying around in close proximity. Suddenly, the cool metal of the cuff fell from my wrist and I was free, but I absolutely refused to move. Not with Whittaker this close to me.

"Get up," he ordered quietly. I shook my head timidly. "Get up," he repeated, his voice growing gruff.

"No," I whispered.

Whittaker dragged a hand down his face, getting back to his feet and walking away. I know that was an opportunity to get away, but I was too scared to move—his hand was antsy on that gun, and I didn't want to give him an opportunity to use it. Suddenly, Whittaker whirled back around and fired a bullet straight into my stomach.

I gasped in pain as I clutched at my wound, warm, wet blood running over my fingers. Being shot like that was excruciating—imagine someone stabbing you with a red-hot poker from a fireplace and then leaving it in your body. That's what it felt like.

Through my haze of pain, I watched as Whittaker crossed the room and flicked the nanogene switch, summoning the little lights to heal my wound. Because the injury was more severe, a whole blanket of them came forth, covering my stomach in a golden gloss. I moved my hands out of the way (much to the protest of common sense) and let them do their work, watching anxiously. The pain gradually disappeared over a minute, and the nanogenes disappeared, the only signs of any bullet wound the blood on my skin and a hole in my shirt.

"Next time you disobey me, I won't summon the nanogenes," Whittaker promised. He lifted the gun again. "Get on the bed."

Trigger Warning: Sexual Assault

In complete and utter powerlessness, I got up and walked back to the hospital bed, taking a seat on it like a child on a patio chair made for adults. Whittaker grabbed the handcuffs, marched over to join me and shoved me down on the bed, hauling my legs up like limp tree branches. He then climbed on top of me, setting the gun down next to my head. He cuffed my left wrist to the metal supporting the mattress. I was trapped.

"It's been so long since I've been with a woman," Whittaker said huskily. "And you're the most beautiful woman I've ever seen. I'm sorry, Ms. Smith: I simply can't help myself."

Tears began trickling from the corners of my eyes, down my temples, and onto the pillow. "Please don't do this," I begged, my voice a strained whisper. "You just haven't had anyone in a while, and I'm here. You don't want me, not at all."

"Oh, Ms. Smith," Whittaker replied, "You'll find I want you very, very much. And if you don't let me have you, your brain is gonna end up right on that wall."

Okay, you can start reading again.

Suddenly, the infirmary doors slid open, causing Whittaker to whirl around and take the gun. A large fist slammed into Whittaker's face, and he slumped over me with the force. Two foreign hands gripped Whittaker's shirt and hauled him off of me, dragging him to the floor. I heard the gun clatter briefly to the floor before my savior picked it up; and when I finally got control of my fear and adrenaline, I recognized my savior as the Doctor.

The Doctor's expression was the most terrifying thing I'd ever seen: his teeth were bared, a vein was popping out in his red face, and his breath was hissing between his clenched jaw. His eyes were angry and frenzied enough to kill a man—and with that gun in his hand, he could.

The Doctor pinned Whittaker to the floor and held the gun close to his face: he wouldn't point the barrel directly at him, but he held it alongside his head so Whittaker would know it was there. "Did you really think it was a good idea to take advantage of my friend?" the Doctor spat. "You know the story of the Prisoner of the Pandorica. Every single one of my enemies tried to shut me away, and they couldn't manage it for five minutes. And you've joined their ranks."

The Doctor spared a glance toward me, now huddled up against the wall on the hospital bed. My arm stuck out, still bound to the bed frame. "You okay, Erica?" he asked, a bit of the snarl still in his voice.

I drew a shaky breath. "Fine," I finally got out.

"Did he do any damage?"

"No."

Whittaker struggled against the Doctor's weight on him, desperate to get out. The Doctor redoubled his hold on him and pressed the side of the gun barrel into his cheek. "Don't you even think about getting away," he snarled. "I don't let people take advantage of my friends. Not without consequences."

"P-Please," Whittaker stuttered. "You don't understand. I couldn't help—"

"Of course you could help it," the Doctor spat. "People can always help it."

The Doctor slowly withdrew the gun from Whittaker's face, grabbing the barrel and offering the gun to me, handle first. "Can you hold onto that for me, Erica?"

I carefully took the gun from the Doctor, my hand shaking as I held it. The Doctor repositioned himself over Whittaker, slung his hands under his captive's arms, and shoved Whittaker up so he was sitting against my hospital bed. Whittaker, too terrified to resist, made only the smallest oof. I repositioned the gun so the barrel pressed against Whittaker's head.

The Doctor reached into his inside coat pocket and fished out the sonic screwdriver. He lifted it to my handcuff and buzzed it open, finally freeing me. He raised Whittaker's hand so and quickly cuffed him to the bed, like Whittaker had to me just seconds ago. When Whittaker's wrist was bound, the Doctor held his hand open and waiting, and I handed him back the gun, which he pressed into Whittaker's chest with the slightest pressure.

"If I ever see you again, I will not be so merciful," the Doctor snarled. He finally stood, taking the barrel from Whittaker's chest, much to his captive's relief. He glanced toward me, curled up on the bed and huddled against the wall, and held his free hand out. "Come on, Erica. We're leaving."

He helped me off the bed and wrapped an arm protectively around my shoulders, giving Whittaker one last venomous glance before leaving the infirmary. When we got out into the hall, the Doctor searched around the corridor, looking for a place to hide the gun.

"Doctor, we need to go," I said. "This is a ship of escaped convicts. We should keep the gun, anyway."

"Can't do that, Erica," he said, moving a panel in the wall slightly to the right and revealing a hollow space. "If I fire on them, then they'll all fire back, and we'll both be ripped to shreds."

"Then just don't fire on them! Keep the gun, use it to scare them."

He set the gun in the hollow space and moved the panel back. "Oh, but I really, really want to use it," he said, sonicking the panel into place. "Especially after what almost just happened." He turned back to me, pocketing the sonic, and cupped my face between his hands, looking me over.

"Are you all right?" he said, his voice completely devoid of any menace or fury. "Did he hurt you?"

"I'm fine," I reassured him. "Just shaken, that's all. Let's get out of here."

"Right," the Doctor confirmed. He took my hand and began hurriedly leading me away, checking around every corner before proceeding.

"How did you know to come just in time?" I asked. Such impeccable timing, even for the Doctor, was incredibly impossible.

"I planted a bug on you," the Doctor answered. "Just before we separated. I wanted to make sure you were totally safe. I hope you don't mind."

I might've minded before, but the Doctor just saved my sanity; after this, he could put my whole bedroom under surveillance and I'd be okay with it. "Not at all," I answered honestly. Well, that explained the obnoxious bear hug: he needed a reason to partially hide me from view.

"I'm sorry I couldn't get to you sooner," he apologized. "I wanted to get away as soon as he threw you against the chair, but I couldn't without rousing Briggs' suspicions."

"Yeah, about that," I began as we scurried through the Star Ariel. "How did you get away?"

"It's one of my less brilliant and cunning plans," the Doctor admitted.

"What did you do?"

"I hit him over the head while his back was turned."

"Well, thank you," I said sincerely. Even if he killed Briggs, I wasn't gonna argue with him. Not yet, anyway. "What do we do now?"

"We're getting back to the TARDIS and leaving the Star Ariel," the Doctor answered. Suddenly, a loud, harsh alarm started up, and red lights appeared all over, painting the corridor in red.

"They know we escaped," I inferred, to my horror.

"Run!" the Doctor exclaimed, his hand doubling his grip on mine as we broke into a sprint.

We pounded through the Star Ariel, all subtlety forgotten. We heard other hurried footsteps and angry war calls: Briggs must be ordering his army of prisoners to mobilize against us. The Doctor and I ran faster and faster whenever we heard an alarmingly-close march, but we weren't the Flash; soon we had a whole gang of prisoners on our tails. I thanked whoever was listening that they didn't shoot, if only because they didn't want to kill the Doctor.

By some miracle, we made it to the corridor outside of the cargo bay. I was nearly whooping in victory: against all odds, we'd made it! We were gonna be okay! The Doctor and I burst into the cargo bay—which was completely empty.

"What?" I asked, panting hard. "Where's the TARDIS? This is where we left her, isn't it?"

"No, no, no," the Doctor chanted, in denial. "I don't understand."

Behind us, a gruff voice barked, "Hands in the air!"

The Doctor and I exchanged a glance; he saw my fear, and I his resignation. We slowly raised our hands above our heads and turned around to face the dozens of prisoners filling in the cargo bay, all guns pointed at us. Briggs slowly strode out of the mass of soldiers, rubbing the back of his head.

"You'll find I'm not so dim, Doctor," he spat. "You think I'm stupid enough to leave your precious blue box sitting there for the taking?" This change in Briggs from bumbling captain to condescending pirate was alarming. I guess the Doctor's not the only actor on board.

"We want off," the Doctor declared, glaring at Briggs. "You lured us here with lies and kept us here by force. Your poor excuse for a medic very nearly took advantage of my friend. You have no right to hold us here."

"We may not have a right," Briggs retorted, "but we have a brig." He gestured to the prisoners nearest him. "Take them down with an escort of four," he ordered. He stroked his chin thoughtfully. "Find Dr. Whittaker," he said, sneering at me, "and have him posted at a twenty-four hour watch."

I began trembling, but I hid it by clenching my fists and jaw. The Doctor's eyes were aflame, with an anger I've never seen yet. Four prisoners walked up to us, with two surrounding us and keeping their guns ready while the others spun us around and handcuffed our hands behind our backs. They roughly spun us back around and marched us through the crowd of prisoners, passing right by Briggs. I glared daggers at him, but it was a loving gaze compared to the Doctor's fury.