The Doctor had a rude awakening.
He had tried sitting up and screaming even before he had managed to open his eyes.
His body ached all over. Every inch of his skin was burning; intolerable pain spread out from his abdomen; tubes had been forced into nearly every bodily orifice.
The Doctor tried moving his head. His eyes were stuck together; his cheeks felt sticky.
The Doctor would have screamed if he hadn't been currently intubated.
His body was pure pain.
Tears formed in his eyes.
Someone performed an incision on his lower abdomen slowly and with care.
He winced.
"I was afraid that might happen."
The Doctor tried to look up but all he could see was a giant and bright white lamp above his head. He closed his eyes unintentionally.
He wanted to see him; he wanted to see the one who dared to...
The Doctor tried to cough.
Something must have blocked the medical ventilator.
He shivered, gasped for air and tried to free his fixed head.
An alarm somewhere in the noisy room went off.
A hand in a chainmail glove grabbed the tube, which had been taped to his face, and pulled it out of his throat.
The Doctor alternated between coughing, spitting and breathing in deeply.
His neck hurt. His lips felt dry and excoriated.
The hand in the chainmail glove patted him on the forehead.
"You're body keeps refusing" explained a low voice which belonged, he assumed, to whoever owned the hand in the glove. "And I'm sorry for disturbing your sleep. I guess you can't have a good rest while you're abdominal wall is being removed and your internal organs are being rearranged."
The Doctor panted and let out a cry of despair.
He'd only stop as his lungs felt as though they'd collapse any second now.
There was a dark silhouette he could catch a glimpse of on the other side of the room.
It had twitched.
"I'm not sure why you want to see this" mumbled the low voice while stepping aside and attaching an ECG device via electrodes to his body. The Doctor tried to look around but soon found it to be too bright.
And the pain in his abdominal region was killing him.
"I have to be here."
There was this voice in the back of the room.
"What did you do? Why did he stop breathing a moment ago?"
Aggrieving silence filled the room. Somewhere around the Doctor pumps pumped continuously; there was a strange hissing sound as well.
The Doctor tried to moisturise his dry lips with his tongue, but it felt dry as well.
"I didn't intend to disturb you" there was the chainmail glove again, petting his leg "and therefore I'm very sorry. But there's nothing wrong with your bodily functions. You can breathe on your own, your hearts are beating automatically..."
"Then what was it?" asked the other voice.
"His body rejects everything we try to insert. But it won't take long. It's got to give in sooner or later."
The Doctor tried to move but still couldn't manage to sit up. His upper part of the body was fixed to the operating table by a broad strap. His ankles and wrists were tied as well.
He could feel the chainmail glove entering the gaping wound in his stomach. He screamed and struggled hopelessly to free himself.
"You're going to be sedated as soon as possible" the low voice tried to reassure him "but before that I have to..."
Something seemed to move in his intestines before the chainmail glove moved it gently.
There was a cracking noise and the Doctor let out a cry of pain as something cut through his abdominal muscles.
"I'm sorry" it seemed as if the low voice tried to sooth him "but that was necessary. You see your psoas major muscle, as well as the quadratus lumborum muscle, are both well built but they tend to get in the way when you're trying to fix the hairline cracks in your pelvis. In fact most skeletal striated muscles are. But don't worry; it will be done in a minute. Just a little adjustment on your spine and your pelvic floor..."
The Doctor gasped for air as his legs twitched uncontrollably and the shooting pain in his lumbar spinal region intensified.
The cracking noise soon was followed by a rattling one as the chainmail glove pushed several cold metallic instruments into his flesh.
The Doctor howled and gave a yelp, tears running down his cheeks.
A tremor spread through his limbs, then it was over; his back felt numb.
"There... finally..." something stroked his legs again.
The Doctor squinted and bit his lip. He tried not to offer resistance in order to get hurt as little as possible.
There was a swoshing sound.
The hand in the chainmail glove worked ceaselessly on his lower abdomen.
A solid tube was forced into his anus and he felt a tepid liquid being pumped into his body, which soon filled his abdominal cavity.
The Doctor held his breath.
The silhouette in the back of the room had disappeared; to be more specific: it had vanished into the background.
The Doctor could still sense someone else staring at him.
He shivered, his lips forming the words "please" over and over again.
He couldn't do anything apart from begging for mercy.
The hands in the chainmail gloves stroked him carefully.
"The worst is over."
The Doctor tried to find peace in the current silence.
He closed his eyes again and tried to ignore the continuing twitching of the muscles in his lower abdomen as the liquid gushed out of his stomach;
and he tried to forget about the pain in his rectum as well.
"You know" there was the low voice again, a voice he thought he remembered, if he came to think about it "A Time Lord's body is rather complex, in fact sophisticated I'd say. I'd personally call it the pride of creation, but I guess most humans would disagree with me..."
He got patted on one leg.
"Like I said; it takes a lot to know about it, to understand it. I'd be a layperson compared to you, presumably. And I must admit it is disgraceful to proceed such..." the remaining words of the voice were swallowed by a swoshing sound as a foaming liquid flashed through a flexible tube.
The Doctor tried to keep his eyes open, while the growing pain seemed to drain his energy.
"...Sadly, I'd say. It's a shame. But your body refuses to carry a foetus. Therefore I'm forced to use other means. Pitiful it is, really. It's torture, that's what it is, nothing but torture. But we have to torture you in order to keep the foetus alive. Otherwise it would be cut off the blood supply soon. Your body would simply reabsorb it, trying to recover some energy from it. But we're in dire need of the child. We all are."
A long drawn-out sigh from the voice followed. The lamp above the Doctor's head still blinded him
He saw one hand in a chain mail glove reaching for a flexible tube and removing it from the gaping wound which had been his abdominal wall till now. He forced some kind of suction pipe into the oozing wound. The Doctor flinched and clenched his fists.
But the pain from his abdomen was not nearly as bad as the one from his anal region.
His mucous membrane of the oral cavity felt sore – he must have been intubated for quite some time.
He swallowed and suppressed the tears once more.
The Doctor looked down only to see the different tubes, which had been inserted in his body, protruding out of his lower abdomen. All of them...
The hand in the chain mail glove was tampering with a scalpel again, leaving micro cuts all around the open wound.
The Doctor tried to cough; he had to suppress the pain somehow.
The hand stopped – the Doctor felt someone staring at him.
There was a twinge in his arm. A syringe.
"Just a little prick, that's all" assured him the voice. He nodded devitalized.
"You should fall asleep any minute now" the voice went on and he felt the hand in the chain mail glove touching one of his legs again and stroking them softly.
"Soon it will be over."
The Doctor closed his eyes and felt tears running down his cheeks. They had blushed due to the embarrassment and humiliation.
There was a sound as if someone was opening a door slowly.
"I told you to stay out of here!" shouted the smooth voice, which had been silent for quite a while.
"Doctor, what's going on? What is he doing?"
A female voice. It was the voice of a girl; a girl he had known once.
He struggled to open his eyes once more but his lids were already too heavy.
He wanted to see her. He wanted to see her again to make sure that it was actually her.
The Doctor swallowed.
"Rose..." he managed to whisper with his remaining strength "...Rose..."
But he had already lost consciousness.
The Doctor opened his eyes again. He was back in the Tardis, lying on the floor. It seemed as if he hadn't even moved; there he was, still on the same spot.
Automatically he pressed his hands against his stomach and held his breath immediately.
It hurt... it hurt so much...
He removed his shirt with care.
Something was oozing.
His upper part of the body was mirrored in a metal ornament near the floor of the Tardis.
They were all over his body.
Stitches. Cuts. Seams. Metal brackets.
As if someone had tried to staple his body together again...
The Doctor gasped for air and stared unbelievingly at the innumerable wounds on his abdomen.
The Tardis was brightened.
There was no one else here.
The Doctor crawled to the door of the Tardis.
It was locked. The door was locked. No one could have possibly entered the Tardis. No one could have...
He pressed a hand against his back.
It hurt. It...
Tears were welling up in his eyes again.
He clenched his teeth and pulled the staples out of his skin, one by one. The small wounds closed in seconds – his regenerating powers must have increased. Well, no wonder – otherwise he would have been dead for several hours, he assumed.
The Doctor sobbed and touched his maltreated body with care. The pain increased; he rolled to one side and buried his face in his hands. He had a sore throat and was voiceless; the harsh intubations must have damaged his vocal chords.
He could think of nothing else but running; running from the Tardis; running from the past; running from his life.
But he couldn't even move.
With his last ounce of strength he managed to get his cell phone out of his jacket.
He called Jack.
He couldn't think of anybody else he could have called right now.
"He...hello?" Jack's voice sounded muffled as if he hadn't lifted his head from the cushion it was currently resting on.
The Doctor's eyes widened and the tears rushed down his cheeks.
"Jack" he whispered unvoiced "Jack, please help me..."
"Doctor?" mumbled Jack on the other side "Is that you? What's wrong?"
"...Jack, please help me..."
"I'm sorry, but I don't understand..." it sounded as if he sat up in his bed "I can hardly hear a word."
"...please help me..." the Doctor started sobbing again.
"Doctor, where are you? What's wrong?"
"...please Jack..."
"Doctor?!"
The Doctor's voice was cracking. He started crying out loud, crouched into a corner and lay down in a curled up position.
Jack breathed in deeply.
"I'll be there in a minute."