In the previous chapter, the Galactic Council's outgoing messaging system gave them a way to get in touch with the Doctor. So now, the Companions must wait. Which could prove problematic, and not just because waiting is torture.

In this chapter, you will see mention of the "Epidromeas," which hearkens back to the previous story, "Keeping with the Enemy." If you'd like a run-down of what happened, please PM me and I'll oblige you! Otherwise, basically what you need to know is right here in the text!

TWELVE

It was six hours before Donna and Martha saw one another again.

Martha was coming to, as she could hear Donna's voice coaxing her into wakefulness, and could feel Donna's elbow nudging her arm.

"Martha? Martha? Come on, love, wake up," said Donna, kindly, but at full-voice.

Martha stirred, and realised that her neck hurt.

And slowly, she began to understand that her neck hurt because she had been snoozing sitting up. On the lone seat in the TARDIS console room. She'd fallen asleep with her hand on the side of her face, and her elbow on the back of the chair.

"Ugh," she groaned, trying to untangle herself from the stiffness. "What time is it? I feel like death."

"It's almost ten," Donna said, handing her a cup of coffee in a mug from Martha's own kitchen. "Here, have this. It'll give you a sense of normalcy."

"Thanks," Martha croaked, taking it.

Donna looked her over. "I've gotta admit, last few days, I've hated seeing you in the morning because you look gorgeous even just as soon as you're awake. But today? Not so much."

"I didn't exactly get the beauty sleep I needed," she muttered, clutching the mug tightly.

Donna leaned against the controls, and the two women sipped their coffee in silence together for a few moments. Then, she asked, "Why did you stay in the console room last night? You've got several bedrooms to choose from… infinite space, plus your very own flat."

Martha shrugged, staring down into her cup. "Big bed… couldn't face it alone. Either the one here in the TARDIS, or the one in my flat. I guess… I thought if I hung out right here, I could be closer to him, you know? It's the first time we've had to be apart since…"

"I see," Donna said, stroking Martha's back for comfort.

"I know it's daft, how vulnerable and scared I feel," Martha whispered.

"Well, to be honest, I know I tried to quiet you down last night when you were panicking, but I feel quite vulnerable and nervous as well."

"Yeah?"

"Yeah! My best friend is gone, and he's literally been taken in the night, to a different planet. That'll mess with your head."

"It will."

"Martha, I still think we should try to keep cool heads and go about our business the way he would want us to. But I must tell you, it's okay to feel like you want to break down and have a psychotic episode, for no reason other than because you love him. I'm just saying."

Martha gave a weak smile. "Okay. Thank you." Then she cleared her throat. "Take my mind off it. Tell me about your date with Colin."

"Was it a date?"

"You tell me!"

"Well, I mean, it was just a coffee out, piggy-backing on a family thing..."

"Just tell me about it, Donna," Martha chuckled.

"It was nice," Donna told her. "He's a real gentleman. We went to The Red-Eye, do you know it?"

"I know of it," Martha said. "I've never been there, but I know it's a place that stays open for when the pubs shut."

"We talked and talked and talked and talked… then we talked some more. He seems, frankly, quite perfect for me," Donna mused, grasping her mug in both hands, staring at the wall with a contented look on her face.

Martha smiled sincerely this time. "That's amazing, Donna – I'm so happy for you! And for Colin. He's had a rough go of it."

"Well, don't get your hopes up too high," Donna sighed. "I mean, I think Colin's brilliant. But I'm balking a bit at seeing him again."

"Why?"

"I just… I have a pattern, you know? When I get to feeling sorry for myself, in the past, in those moments I've become a squib-magnet. And I don't think Colin is a squib of any sort, but… I just tend to leap in, head first, when I'm like this."

"You mean, how you were on Wednesday... with Madeleine?"

"Yeah."

"And Thursday morning, not wanting to travel with us anymore?"

"Yes," Donna said, quietly. "And it's not even about Colin, or any other bloke. It's about me. It's about me breaking a habit. Because… what if it's not that I'm a squib-magnet, Martha? What if it's not that the arseholes of the world find me irresistible when they can see desperation in me, but more to do with me grasping at straws when I'm feeling cast-out? I'll grasp at anything that will make me feel like I don't have to be alone. I have to own that."

"We've all been there, in some form or another."

Donna doubted that Martha could fully understand, but she could hardly say so. She continued talking. "If I tell Colin, 'yeah, great, let's go out again and try to live happily ever after,' – because, believe you me, I'm dying to – even if it works out and he turns out to be every bit as amazing as he seems, and we grow old together, I will never know how strong I am. I will never know if I can say no to the handsome man who seems to happen to want me just now, who seems to be giving me exactly what I so desperately crave at this very moment, when what I need is to sort through myself."

"That makes perfect sense," Martha said. "But I have to say, even though you'll think I'm missing the point: Colin is worth a stab at happily ever after."

Donna smiled. "If that's true, then maybe he'll be gracious enough to give me a chance, when I'm ready."

Martha smiled indulgently. "That's actually a really good point."

After a long silence, during which the two women sipped their respective hot beverages and contemplated their individually currently messed-up romantic situations, Donna asked, "Shouldn't we be prepping for Monday morning? I mean, we can chat about my love life until we're both blue in the face, but that meeting isn't going to spy on itself."

Martha chuckled at this and said, "Yes. And, in that case, come with me."

The ride to the Galactic Prison's Inner Sanctum had taken twelve hours, even through the Corocoup Wormhole, which seemed weird to the Doctor. It seemed to him that it should take a lot longer than that, at least a couple of days. But he'd been "warehoused" in the back of the space travel vehicle without any way of seeing where they were going, or any of the instruments of the ship.

In that twelve hours, the Doctor had asked at least a thousand questions, and had tried to make conversation. He had even monologued at them, largely out of boredom. He had gone hoarse eventually, and had now given up on trying to glean anything from the thugs who had arrested him. So, he still wasn't sure of the charge against him (though he had a guess), he didn't know whether he'd be able to speak with Judge Mimsi or have Agent Dawray as his representative at the trial. He didn't even know if he'd be able to obtain some clothing when he arrived.

Then again, the whole thing felt odd, not just the lack of communication. It's not like the Doctor was new to being in the custody of the Galactic Council, but this was the first time the arresting agents had a) not announced the charges, b) knocked out the person he was with, c) arrested him with no clothes on, and d) wouldn't speak to him or answer any questions during transport.

When he'd told Martha, "They're from the Galactic Council," he had been ninety per-cent sure that this was true – the environmental suits the agents were wearing had been, as far as he could tell, standard issue.

But when one of them had zapped Martha with the Stupefactor gun, his certainty had dropped a hell of a lot.

Much of what these guys were doing seemed routine, and official. Much of it did not.

But it wasn't non-routine, and unofficial-seeming enough make the Doctor certain he was being kidnapped, not arrested. If these folks weren't from the Council, they at least had a really good idea of how to fake it, and it had been a while since he'd been arrested… maybe some things had changed.

He resolved, as always, to remain on his guard.

Upon arrival, the same agent who had handcuffed him led the Doctor down a long white hallway. The place hummed as though it were on an asteroid, and there were artificial generators keeping it going (which it was, and there were). But no-one was speaking.

Eventually, a man dressed in black appeared in the hallway with a few officers walking behind him. He stopped and addressed the agent, who also stopped, along with the Doctor.

"Is this the Doctor?" he asked.

"Yes, sir."

"Why is he dressed like that?"

The agent still clad in the environmental suit looked him over conspicuously and said, "He was with someone when we found him."

"Oh. And that someone?"

"I administered an hour's worth of Stupefaction."

"Human?" asked the man in black.

The agent looked at the Doctor for confirmation. The Doctor nodded subtly.

"Female?"

"I think so," said the agent. "The voice was higher-pitched, and the skeletal structure was smaller."

"Well, in that case, she'll likely be unconscious for more like two hours," the man in black had the courtesy to say to the Doctor himself. "But she'll be fine. Groggy, but fine. The human brain is actually a lot more resilient than some give it credit for."

"Brilliant. Thanks," the Doctor muttered.

In truth, he'd known that the Stupefactor would not harm her in the long-term, and it would allow the agents to take him, without her getting truly hurt in trying to stop them. He had seen the device come out of the agent's belt, and had basically let him knock her out. He had no certainty that he would have been able to stop it happening if he'd so chosen, but he could have tried. As it was, he reckoned stupefaction would be safer for Martha… which he knew would infuriate her later, when he told her the truth. If he told her, that is.

"I'll notify General Kir that he's here," the man in black said to the agent.

The Doctor was then led into a glass room where several agents in white uniforms now stood facing him, at attention. The escorting agent removed his helmet and environmental suit at that point, and revealed that he was wearing the same white uniform underneath as the others.

"Wow, it's good to get that thing off me!" he exclaimed, throwing it into a corner. "Hello, Doctor, I'm Agent Pym. I'll be in charge of you, during your sojourn here."

"Charmed," the Doctor said to him.

Pym came and stood directly in front of the Doctor and said, "Please confirm that you are the entity known as the Doctor, a Time Lord from Gallifrey, aged nine-hundred-three."

"I confirm," the Doctor sighed.

"Doctor, you are being arrested by the Galactic Council on the charge of murder."

"I figured."

"Approximately three galactic weeks ago, the mutilated remains of an Epidromeas were found on Earth, by said being's fellow operatives. It was discovered, upon pathology reporting, that the energy signature associated with the Epidromeas' cause of death was yours. Or rather, that of your TARDIS."

"Yep. I programmed the TARDIS to throw a shield, and the Epidromeas ran into it at full speed."

"And you did this knowingly? You lured the being in, so as to cause its death?"

"Oh, right, like I'm going to answer that! But I wonder: do you know what that thing was doing? To me? To my friends? People I love? Do you know what it wanted to do to a level-five planet? Do you know what it wanted to do to the Galactic Council itself?"

"Who cares?" asked Agent Pym. Then, he cleared his throat. "I mean, it is of no consequence to me. My function is to make you aware of your circumstances, and keep you alive."

"Fine," the Doctor sighed.

"Please step forward and to your left, and give handprints."

The Doctor did as asked, and another agent took his hands and pressed them onto hot, glass plates for just about as long as the Doctor could stand, and then released him.

Next, he was instructed to take two steps to his right, upon which, a dome-like apparatus came down over his whole body, and sealed him inside. The thing vibrated for about a minute, and a weird light filled the space, and the Doctor understood that his energy signature was being recorded.

After that, Pym took him from that room through the back, and they found themselves in a long hallway, walled on both sides with cell bars.

"You'll be in cell 67. You are prisoner 1106… though I'll just call you Doctor, if that's all right," Pym said.

"It's fine," said the Time Lord, flatly.

They walked about halfway down the corridor, and a cell on the left was chosen for him. Pym let him in using a card key attached to his uniform, then sealed the bars behind him.

"Er, would you be able to find me some clothes?" the Doctor asked.

"That's not standard procedure."

"Well, that's hardly news. There's a lot of that going on here."

Pym didn't say anything, but held the Doctor's eye. "I'll see what I can do. It's not like we just have room after room with spare trousers and shirts laying about, you know. And I'll get into trouble if I give you officer-issued clothing to wear."

"Well, don't you have a uniform for inmates?"

"You're not to that stage yet. You're just being held for trial. After you're convicted, you'll wear the uniform."

"I see. Presumptuous much?"

"Again, I'll see what I can do. In the meantime, if you're cold, there's a blanket."

"Agent Pym?"

"Yes?"

"We walked kind of a long way down this corridor. Why are there no other prisoners here?"

"Oh, there are," answered Pym. "They're on the other side. What do you think – we just have an empty jail? That would be ridiculous."

"It would be ridiculous, indeed."

Agent Pym made to walk away, then the Doctor said, "Aren't you forgetting something?"

"What now?"

"My contact."

"Your contact?"

"I'm supposed to give you contact information for someone, like next of kin, so that I can remain in communication with my loved ones, even though I am incarcerated. It's part of due and civilised process, according to the Galactic Constitution, Paragraph 6."

Pym stared at him blankly for a moment. Then he shook it off and said, "Yes, of course. As an agent of the Galactic Council, I'm privy to that info. Let me…" He searched his uniform for something to write with. He found a pen and little pad of paper, and the Doctor explained what sort of frequency Earth's mobile phones use, then gave him Martha's name and number.

Then, Agent Pym walked away, leaving the Doctor watch… and wonder.

Thoughts? Feelings? It would make my day if you'd let me know! :-)