4 – Empty

Air barged its way into his lungs, stretching them beyond their limit, before backing out - almost apologetically. It happened again, and again. And each time he grew more aware. More smothered. Until finally, that old, tiny, part of his brain snapped and he fought against the irritating tubes plunging deep into his airways.

The creature spluttered, trying to ignore each stabbing sensation as he wrestled for control of his lungs. Victory was proclaimed with a wet gurgling noise heaving repetitivley out of his raw flesh. It had been an effort only achievable through a little compromise; an increase in oxygen within his casing's hermetic atmosphere.

He sat and marinated in it for a while, unable to do anything else but breathe.

And many painful breaths passed before Sec stirred properly. An inaudible, private, whine announced he had finally escaped the chasm of unconsciousness – only to be greeted by a reality just as dark, and confining, and so very familiar. The old mutant was overtaken by a rare and powerful urge to stretch his mandibles wide, drawing in as much air as possible, until his feeble lungs were on the verge of exploding. They did in a sense; with a violent cough that dislodged a wad of slime from deep inside him.

Everything was hazy and there was an unrelenting throbbing right behind his eye. The more he probed the more he found; he was shivering, burning, freezing, nerves crackling with leftover electricity. And another unpleasant sensation further roused him – his guts churning urgently with an intensity he had never experienced before. Too strange and profoundly physical to ignore.

With another sharp inhale, insides stretching beyond the point of agony, Sec grimaced. Everything seemed typical, if not much more wretched than usual. The worst was the inexplicable turbulence in his stomach; it begged for his attention.

The Dalek fumbled, probing his computer systems and started a diagnostics check. But truthfully, even he was not so out of touch with his biological body that he was ignorant of nausea. It was a fairly common sensation, one which was generally easier to dismiss. But this… this was something more than just nausea alone. It was completely sapping him.

Sec tried to coax the shutters in his eyestalk to behave. It was glacial, but everything eventually swam into a grainy focus, depicted in ultra sharp relief. His surroundings were painful and difficult to discern. But he surmised that the room, filled with specialised equipment, seemed medical in nature – and that it was not of Dalek design.

Where were they? What was happening? Were they in danger? A strange room certainly suggested danger. And the fact he could not immediately recall everything was bad. Very bad. The holes in his memory urged him to rouse properly. But his mind was racing in an agonisingly slow way.

He scanned around for Thay, the one with the most medical knowledge, but there was no sign of her. Such unapproved absence was disrespectful. And yet... his thoughts turned to undesirable possibilities. He was still going to reprimand her for this imprudence – unless something had happened to her. He tried to move, tried to go looking for her.

As he lurched forward the floor spun away and he was forced to stop. His head swelled and pulsed disorientedly, while some ethereal force lifted his organs. He was falling. Falling? He remembered falling. Falling from an upright position. He had just stood up. And then he fell. But he had no functional legs. It made no sense – and yet it did. Thay had shot him.

What sort of fever was this?

All his thoughts collected, memories flooding back – it all burbled and burned up his oesophagus, spilling out his mouth. It was disgusting. He hated it. He felt his casing start to draw it out from the interior, ejecting it. Felt it seep and trickle out of the permeable mesh membranes on his neck where it clung irritatingly to his metal skin, joining the remnants of previous expulsions.

Sec could have tried to burn it away, but he could barely spark a coherent thought. And still he could not move or he would feel it all again.

They had all betrayed him. He had made the greatest sacrifice – all to protect them. His purity. The cold, biting, sensation of shackles on wrists still weighed heavy in his mind. He had been right – and oh so wrong about them. A persistent chill shivered through his body, and all his thoughts crumbled.

He felt utterly deprived of something but he could not decide what, could not even think as all his attention kept swirling inwards towards his stomach – it was like it had taken his mind prisoner.

His gut spasmed again. Before the computer pinged back his requests and told him what was wrong, Sec finally realised what his body was crying out for:

Food.

It was so basic. And yet so ridiculously complicated. He was so desperately hungry. Never before had he had to deal with such a problem – He was stunned. Lost. And could not even begin to find a solution.

Another clenching sensation, his stomach threatening to squeeze harder, denied him any ability to focus on anything other than trying not to vomit again. There was nothing in his stomach anyway. Nothing but the awful unease eating at his insides.

The computer alerted him once more of the lack of sustenance, and Sec found that the machine's warnings did little to convey the problem compared to the actual, all–consuming, gnawing, visceral, sensation of hunger so he muted those useless messages. Thousands of years and he had never felt such a thing before and he had not even the faintest idea what he could possibly do to rectify it. What a state his species had become.

Driven by something even older than himself, he tried to move again, tried to locate a source of sustenance. But his plans were thwarted instantly as the room started spinning. Another instinct, just as old, warned him if he moved too much he was going to pass out, or vomit. Probably both. So he opted to avoid moving all together and went completely still until it passed.

There should have been medicine to combat it - but diagnostics told him there was a critically absent supply of drugs – only that which was currently circulating in his blood remained. Everything had been purged and with his nutrient and mineral stores empty there was no way to manufacture more. Anti-sickness medicine was nothing but an impossible ideal. He was stuck.

As the moment ticked by, another inconvenience became apparent. Even in such a short time, yet again, there had been a disobliging build up of toxins that needed disposed of. The realisation it was mostly the human, Diagoras', corrupted, broken down remains sitting in his septic tanks crawled at his flesh – just as the creature had writhed in his gullet, clawing for freedom. He wanted rid of it.

But he was not even sure where he was. Tentatively, he accessed his vision again, already wincing in anticipation. His eyestalk twitched to life and he slowly, as gently as he could, scanned his surroundings for more intel; even just a distraction. With his memories, the room made a little more sense now – of course – he was in the TARDIS.

Peculiar...

Sec realised he was just as disinterested at the prospect of being on the Doctor's legendary ship as his stomach was empty. Ironically, his travel unit had almost been fully charged by the Time Vortex but that was of little help right now. It gave him no sustenance. And although still armed, gun fully functional, he had no urge to hunt down and destroy the Doctor and his associate. He was sick of meat anyway.

It was strange; he had no desire to kill them whatsoever. It had nothing to do with the kinetosis, or the hunger, that much he knew, but he was too depleted to analyse it. Instead, his mind drifted away, wandering back a thousand years to reminisce of the microponics chambers in the under levels of Kaalann. To suddenly being reminded of the stench of pulped crops and the earthy, nutrient rich steam the air there, and on their ships, was once regularly pumped with.

Meat had never been a problem during Pas Jass-Vortan. There was plenty of rotting carrion to be found on inferior worlds caught in the crossfire. Fresh meat had grown scarce; life putrified by the effects of Time running wild. But vegetables? Nobody bothered farming any more. Did they even remember how?

A shuffling noise jolted him back into the present. It was coming from an annexed room, and after a quick analysis he conferred that the presence of chemical traces in the air, and its position next to the medical bay, suggested it was likely a laboratory. He listened for a while, hearing a tapping and the occasional mutter from the Doctor as he pondered something. His heart started thumping erratically. He was not alone!

Sec tried to summon him, focusing a thought through his vocal synthesisers. The word 'Doctor' quickly broke off and distorted.

"Rrrrgh..."

The word had failed, but he felt like he had managed to project his thought towards the target.

"Sec?" The Doctor answered back, his voice quickly followed by the Time Lord standing in the doorway and studying him from afar. "You're awake. How're you doing?" His eyes darted all over Sec's casing, grimy with filth, and trembling appendages. "Not great by the looks of you. Can I take a peek at you?"

However risky it might have been, Sec realised, with acid in his mouth, that he could not refuse aid right now; he signalled with a thought to open his casing. As the panels swung apart his flesh tingled with the sudden cool drafts he was exposed to and he started to shiver uncontrollably. Sound came to him in a strangely richer, but more obfuscating way and the presence of light instinctively teased his eye open. He blinked away the discomfort and was met with the visage of the Dalek's greatest enemy barely any distance from his naked form. So very vulnerable. And yet... he did not care.

The Doctor's brows furrowed in thought, looking Sec up and down, taking him all in, before bending down and staring. Right in eye. "You look cream crackered."

All he was able to respond with was a slow blink. Which broke his eyelid because now it refused to work properly; it would not open fully. But it mattered not – now that he had the Doctor's attention he allowed it to sink shut, and in tandem, some power drained in his eyestalk. His thoughts habitually considered that his greatest enemy could reach in and squeeze him to death, or impale him with that sonic probe. Despite these thoughts, Sec felt a stillness within unlike anything he had felt before.

Outside however, he was compelled to wrap and twist all his tentacles around each other in an effort to keep his flesh quiet. There was a word for this, he was sure – just could not figure out what his own skin was telling him.

The noise of the probe right by his head made him flinch and his heart jerked in primal fear - eye springing open. So it did work! But the Doctor was merely scanning his computer systems. The heaviness returned. His eyelid became disobedient again.

"Blimey, you really need some sugar."

He heard the Doctor dart away, rummage around for something and then return. "Sec?"

The Dalek peeled open his eye and tried to focus on the shape looming over him. "I'm gunna inject you with glucagon. So don't try and exterminate me. Deal?"

With some difficulty, Sec lifted a long quaking tentacle, entrusting it to him. The Doctor looked at it, back at him, then reached for the limb, gently clasping and enveloping it. Pressure and warmth coursed through raw nerves, into his brain. It was agony but it was gentle enough that he could endure. With the Doctor supporting it, Sec relaxed and the limb sagged, resting across the Time Lord's arm.

"You seem a tad cold too..."

Ah. Yes. Cold. That was the missing word. He knew it well. How could he have forgotten?

After the injection, the Time Lord knelt down, pushing his knees against the inside of his casing's skirt panels, and studied him closely – never once taking his eyes off him, while he drummed his fingers on a deep container laying propped on his lap. An unreadable expression burned on his face; mouth twisted and brow knotted. Whatever it was, it was not typical of a smile, nor was it aggressive.

Sec peered back, often having to refocus his gaze, the hint of a question at the back of his mind, struggling to rise further. It was like the Time Lord was waiting for something. And then the shivering increased tenfold, his stomach rumbled audibly. As soon as he started retching the Doctor reached in, unexpectedly clasping his flesh and pulling him closer, until he was nearly off his seat. Sec shrieked, sure he was going to fall.

"Ce-c ease! Uuunhaand!"

"Shhhh shhh… easy easy!" He pushed the container right in his face, and then eased his grip, adapting the touch to something entirely new; tracing his fingers back and forth across the side of his body. It was repetitive and soft. Sec would scarcely have believed such a sensation could ever exist if only he was not currently being exposed to such a wonder. His heart calmed, breathing slowed, but his stomach did not. "Sorry. Probably should have warned it might make you sick."

It seemed his stomach wanted to leap out through his throat but only a groan escaped him. A groan that echoed, amplified by the vessel his head had been thrust into.

"Don't fight it."

It was not in his nature to give in, and yet, in a sense, it was nature that won. He surrendered his meagre supply of bile, then relaxed out of necessity; sinking deep into each sharp crevice and corner in the cockpit.

He could still feel the Doctor's glances and thoughts on him as he scurried about, rummaging around the med bay. He was back within a short, indeterminate time; Sec could not even will himself to check his chronometer.

-click-

At first, Sec ignored the noise, deciding to let it be. But when he felt the prickle of dry heat brush against his skin enough curiosity manifested; he cracked open his eye, even probed out with his casing's basic environmental sensors and perceived an electronic device sitting right by his open armour. It glowed a soft red as energy radiated off it. Warmth. He reached out with a single exploratory tentacle, but did not touch the thing; for somewhere in the back of his head he knew it would burn.

But at this distance it was OK. More than OK. An indescribable sensation washed over him - so agreeable he was inclined to disentangle his tentacles and limbs, laboriously spreading and pushing closer to the machine.

The Doctor turned around, stirring something in his hands. Another container, much smaller and made of a material Sec could only guess at without wasting energy analysing. The Time Lord glanced at his posture and briefly snorted air from his mouth, the corner of which curved up slightly – teeth gently bared.

"I don't understand you lot. All that technology and you don't even give yourselves a nice cosy heater! It wouldn't exactly be hard to cram one in there. Easy, in fact." He knelt down again, still stirring whatever mixture was in the container while his eyes darted around the interior of his travel unit. Sec gazed toward the vessel, a strange overpowering scent flowing from it, capturing all his attention. "But here you are, barely a gram of fat on you; clinging onto whatever heat your body can produce when you've got no energy left. And you don't even have basic creature comforts to help you through it. It's all clinically sharp and cold in there." He stopped stirring, plucking out a metal utensil and tapping the back of his hand with it, nodding to himself. "But this should help. Nothing like a hot, er, I mean warm cup of tea to help you feel better. Two sugars, no milk? I'm guessing that'll do you."

He reached for him, gently lifted his swollen head then pressed the container against his mandibles.

"Drink."

When a bit of the liquid touched his mouth his body reacted, running off some old ingrained knowledge. He gave it a few cautious licks, before deeming it acceptable and gulping the rest, eagerly even, as he noticed it neutralise the remnants of acid clinging to his throat. And it ever so slightly appeased his stomach.

"Whoa, Nelly! Not that fast." He said, quickly pulling it back before he could ingest all of it.

"Aww come on don't give me that look- you're not a puppy."

Sec had no clue what he meant but he was inclined to release an unusually high volume of air from his lungs.

"I'll bring the rest back in a couple of minutes – as long as you keep that down."

And when he came back he brought more things than the rest of the promised drink. Things Sec would never have thought of. Items which were simultaneously solid and yet fractionally fluid in nature. Soft items. Which the Time Lord was rather determined to push under, around and over him. An intense stabbing sensation lanced up and down the remnants of his kaled spine and a terrible screech escaped him but in the end he came to realise that this nest of blankets and cushions was much more preferable to the hard, and often sharp surfaces, he had become so accustomed to.

He was lost in it. Had taken to repetitively running the tip of a tentacle over the fabric, completely, utterly, fascinated by the way it yielded obligingly under his touch. He only stilled because his limb grew too heavy to move, and with the heat still cascading over the few bits of his exposed flesh, still bringing warmth, he concentrated on the way he gradually sunk into the material, until even his mind started sinking...

Footsteps.

A jolt spurred him awake. The noise was getting closer. The Doctor came striding through the medical bay's door and knelt down across his open skirt section. He had gone? How much time had passed? Sec nudged aside a section of blanket and peered up at him, trying to pull his image into focus.

"I'm going to take a blood sample, if you don't mind." he said, preparing a needle.

He probably wanted his DNA. Wanted to know if there was anything human left in him.

And Sec wondered how badly he had corrupted his own genome. He had only been fused with the human for a short while, barely enough time for the changes to his cells to settle fully, so there was a possibility, even if it was incredibly slim, that the Doctor's solution had managed to completely reset his original genes.

Assuming that is what he had done; the Time Lord had been reluctant to restore his pure Dalek form after all, and while his own opinion was mixed, Sec could envision why the Doctor had been so hesitant.

From his own limited bodily awareness he seemed to be somewhat back to normal; there was an excess of tentacles and a lack of functional legs. However, what was not normal, were the memories, and the torpor. Perhaps there were still some remnants of Diagoras fused within him. An uncomfortable thought. But even if so, it had been his choice – and those experiences would forever be with him. In his thousands of years, he had finally felt something other than hate. Emotions he could only name because of the connection he had once had with a human host;

Sorrow. Remorse.

Hope.

Those feelings were gone. Dead. He held no emotion right now. He was empty. Like his stomach. But he remembered what it had been like. Oh… how he remembered...

And he remembered the Doctor wanted his blood.

"Proceed," he rasped, somewhat quietly.

Sec flinched as he pressed in again – his face got very close – a bit too close – as he dug under the blanket and freed up one of his tentacles. This time he caught sight of a number of deep cuts in the Time Lord's skin; on his cheek, closed together with strips, and the hint of a dressing on his shoulder, under his shirt. The Dalek would have pondered on it longer if only he was not so distracted by his stomach.

The Doctor glanced shrewdly at him. "And we're really gunna have to get some food in you. You hungry?"

"...very." Sec admitted, machine voice purring - practically a whisper, while the mutant groaned at the feel of the needle digging in.

"Good." He said, eyebrows rising. The expression stayed for a moment, before easing away, back to concentrating on drawing blood. Sec failed to see how hunger was a good thing, and even his stomach protested audibly. "Because you need to eat something. Preferably now. I would've gotten a nutrient feeder set up but I need a little bit more time, and some more information. Which your blood will give me."

At that, he held up the newly acquired vial of his blood and gave it a slight wiggle.

He stood up, putting the sample away on a nearby workbench. There was a light clattering noise as he started working away on something - but his back was turned and Sec could not muster the intrigue to probe into what he was doing.

"Chimkhen vegetable soup?" He eventually turned, showing off a grey block of material that did not particularly look like anything but it absolutely reeked of something, he knew not what of, but nonetheless it was affecting him; there was a sudden increase of fluid in his mouth. "It's good for the soul aaaaand should be easy enough for you to digest."

Sec tried to reach out for it.

"Hold on - let me prepare it first." There was a small wait as the Doctor processed the block into a warm paste, a paste that he called, with a tone of near-but-not-true mockery, food fit for an infant, and knelt down to feed it to him one deliberately and insufferably slow spoonful at a time.

On the last few mouthfuls he grew aware of a paradoxically gradual and meagre surge of energy pumping in his blood and an ever increasing lethargy which was threatening to consume his mind. He focused on the Doctor, trying to keep himself alert.

"Feeling any better now?"

Sec thought for a moment, contemplating it for himself, and contemplating what to reveal. While he had warmed up slightly, and his belly was satisfied, he was now able to notice all the other irritations all over his skin, both metal and flesh; his stinging nerves, as well as the blinding thumps coursing through his head. He decided to be forthright and honest. "Mrr-arginally." He rasped, the usually harsh, demanding, voice strangely weak.

"Yeah you look rough. Even by Dalek standards. Mingin' actually. Could clean you up. You up for another blast in decontamination?"

"Rrrgh..." He growled. Even glancing towards the 'bathroom' still required effort. But the thought of him, a Supreme Black Dalek, with his magnificent metalert casing embellished and reinforced with rare, expensive materials, being covered in filth was unacceptable. That and the large volume of highly concentrated, highly pathogenic, septic waste that could not be recycled, ergo, the human, was still bothersome.

Sec, still wrapped in his nest of blankets, resealed his casing, and took a long moment to steel himself for travel. As he lurched forward the room blurred and he was forced to stop. It took a few attempts to get nowhere, and by then the Doctor had likely grown impatient as he ended up wheeling him to his destination.

As he pushed the Dalek over the threshold, Sec used the momentum to steer himself towards the drain on the floor. Glancing back at the Time Lord's visage, he quietly marvelled that the assistance he was receiving went far beyond what any warden would ever give their prisoner. It was almost like that shoulder squeeze he had been given while still in hybrid form. Sec stared out where the Doctor was, even after the door closed.

Steam filled the room as decontamination started; a downpour of cleansing water bounced off of his casing like rain. Special chemicals easily removed the stubborn grime clinging to his casing. He was almost tempted to call it pleasant. While that went on he took the opportunity to void and irrigate his septic tanks.

When it was all over Sec almost felt majestic again.

It was a short lived majesty; it stretched thin and disappeared with a thud, replaced by an all consuming weariness, as he was returned to his previous post near the medbay's lab, next to an old hospital cot that looked like it had not seen action in years.

The Doctor came around to face him after pushing him. "You're not picking up as fast as I hoped. Will you let me give you some painkillers? Could top up your drug supply while I'm at it."

Such a question prodded him awake. He felt his eyestalk's iris expand with the suggestion and realisation that he kept… slipping.

Daleks did not use painkillers. Ever. There were three reasons for that. The first was creed: only the strong should survive. Which was ironic given the second: With all their mutations and deformities the risk of developing increasing dependencies was too great. Eventually the toxic buildup would just kill them. And then, lastly, most lifeforms would consider a phobia: there was the possibility that it could affect the mind... and a Dalek that acted strangely, or showed signs of illness was more often than not exterminated on sight.

"Please."

The whispered word hurried the Doctor along.

Once more, he was pricked by yet another needle. And, true to his word, the Doctor supplied his life support with the drugs necessary for his survival. It was only enough for two days, but whenever his nutrient stores were filled up it would no longer be an issue.

"I'll go and test that blood sample and put together something to feed you long term with." He stood up, taking a long look down at the mutant, then his gaze shifted towards his arm. Sec followed his eyes. The Doctor's arm was entangled. Smirking, he said: "If you'd let me go, that is."

Without realising, Sec had wound one of his long tentacles around his arm. He did not know why. And still he did not let go.

"...Aarrr-th-th...?" The question refused to form.

With a great deal of care, the Time Lord unwound him and gently tucked the limb back under the blanket, clear from any of his unit's closing mechanisms. "You're tired - we can chat later, alright? I promise you'll be safe here. I know you're a Dalek but quit fighting sleep. It's potent medicine and your body knows that. Listen to it."

Sec stared after him as the Doctor turned away. There was a ghost of a question, too ... painful to vocalise. Too depleted and sore to even ask about the fates of Thay, Jast, and Caan, the mutant resealed his casing and shut his eye.

Slowly his mind blurred and the light in his eyestalk grew dim, but Sec, despite the advice, did not give in to sleep immediately. He listened for a while, hearing the Doctor mutter and tinker away in his laboratory; trying to keep the calm of his presence trapped in his thoughts for as long as he was able.