The Doctor walks in the front doors of the dodgy building, and no one comes to stop him because that would have been suspicious. He'd sent Lana through the back way that she'd escaped from. It had taken some convincing to get her to go in again—he would've left her in the TARDIS if the plan hadn't needed three people.
He'd explained it to Donna and Lana earlier. Despite the obvious way she absolutely hates the place, she'd hesitated about blowing it up. "They've got information on me that I want to know." She says, looking at him with a hard expression on her face. "Will I be able to get it if you blow it up?"
"'Course, it'll just be a bit harder. But I'm a genius, you know. And if this facility managed to escape Canary Wharf, there'll probably be another one, somewhere, too." And doesn't that sting—that the organization that took Rose away from him got away free, just to cause harm to someone else.
He shoves his anger to the back of his mind where it can fester but not explode in an inconvenient moment. Because he might be very good at lying to himself, but he does still know when he's emotions—so big and inconvenient in this face—could get the better of him.
He'd left Donna outside, who'd protested, naturally. She'd wanted to give Torchwood a piece of her mind, and as much as he'd like to see that, he needed her out here (safe) and able to call for backup once he'd gotten everyone out.
Blowing things up always sends a message, after all. That he isn't going to let things like this happen, ever again. That any other Torchwood operation had better scatter, because the Doctor's found them out. And he's not going to let things like this keep happening.
He reaches the front desk and keeps walking to the elevator, waiting to see if the secretary is going to speak up.
"Sir, I'm afraid it's confidential business in there." The secretary says, clearly not used to anything like this happening. "It's not available for the public."
"I'll bet it isn't." He flashes her his best smile, all teeth but nothing in his eyes. She takes a step back, then gets a hold of herself.
"That's right."
"Well, I'm afraid that I'm an official representative of the government, here to check out what you've got going on around here." He holds up his psychic paper for her to see.
Her face turns ashen, to his satisfaction. "O-of course, sir. Let me just..." She types in some sort of security code allowing him to use the elevator, while subtly pressing a sort of button on the desk. Not subtle enough, obviously. It's clearly something that's going to be warning the people in here to hide all the incriminating bits and send out their best public relations person.
Which is fine. Gives him a chance to talk the person he's here to see—the woman that Lana told him only ever introduced herself to her as the Matron.
He takes the elevator and as soon as it reaches the second floor, he's stopped by another male lackey, here to 'give him the tour'. More like to guide him away from the bad things.
"I'd like to see the person in charge here." The Doctor cuts him off. He frowns.
"Sir-"
"Run along, now. Don't worry, I'll wait right here." He pretends to think. "Tell the Matron that it's the Doctor. Should get her to come running." He makes shooing motions at him.
The man clearly knows enough to give him a fearful look and scarper off.
Surprise—the Doctor doesn't wait right there. He waits until the man is out of eyesight then starts strolling along, whistling as if he's unconcerned. Inside, he's seething.
Everything is pure white—the floors, the walls, the ceilings, the equipment and computers—everything. It's enough to almost give him vertigo. He wonders how anyone can work here without getting headaches—in addition to, you know, guilt over the blatant human experimentation and torture.
Lana had said her room was on the second floor, half of the experimentation rooms on the second and half on the third. He's betting the most important ones are on the third. So, he turns around, punches in the security code the secretary had used, and goes up to the third.
The workers up here are not prepared. They look more like scientists than guards—all in their white lab coats and with a purposeful stride. They don't notice the elevator, and he discreetly follows one that looks important.
This door opens into a large room, one section partitioned off by sturdy glass that the scientists can hide behind, and the other with a large, tube-like machine that is just large enough to hold a human.
"Right, well this is interesting." he says conversationally. The scientist jumps practically a foot in the air. He ignores the man and puts on his glasses to peer over his shoulder at the computer.
"Who-"
"What d'you call this thing? It's obviously got to have a proper name." He glances over the first monitor. "Ah. The Distributor. What do you distribute, tea and biscuits? I quite like biscuits, but not the oatmeal and raisin kind." He shudders. While he was blabbing, he'd pointed his sonic at the door, locking it. "Crime against humanity, those."
"Sir, I really—"
"But even the crime of oatmeal and raisin biscuits doesn't raise a candle to what's been going on here." The Doctor looks at the scientist. "What's your name?"
"I, er..." The man swallows, looks at the red light on the doors. "Jeremy Rice."
"Brilliant. Tell me, Jeremy, do you have kids?"
He shakes his head.
"Yeah, didn't think so. How about nieces and nephews? Little cousins?" He looks him over. "Grandchildren? Nah, I don't think you're old enough."
"I have a niece." The scientist is looking increasingly bewildered.
"Right. Can you picture that little girl for me? Really clearly?" The man nods. "Great. Now imagine that little girl, being torn away from where she lives, everything she knows, and manipulated, experimented upon, and shoved into that proper machine over there."
Jeremy flinches hard. "She's-she's fine! It's for the good of humanity—"
The door slides open, and a cool female voice says, "Thank you, Jeremy. I'll take it from here."
The woman steps in, her black heels clicking on the smooth white floor. She has dirty blond hair, a soft, plump face, and blue eyes sharp enough to pierce the hull of a spaceship. She's pretty enough, but in the sort of harmless way that would make people underestimate her. Jeremy glances between the two and scatters. The door slides shut once more.
"The Doctor, I presume?" She says in her soft voice.
"Yep, that's me. And you're the Matron?"
"Do please call me Christine." She gives him a slight smile.
"I'd really rather not." He locks the door again, and she scoffs.
"That didn't keep anyone out last time, did it?"
"Ah, but last time I only locked it from the inside. This time it's outside and inside. It's just you and me, Matron." He takes a long step towards the glass and peers out of it, keeping an eye on her from the reflection in his glasses. "Been a rough day for you, hasn't it? Your experiment runs off, surprise government inspection, which turns out to be me."
She stands unmoving. "We have contingency plans. She'll come back to us soon enough."
"Oh, right, because you're torturing her until she does. What'd you make the inhibitors out of? If they're what I'm thinking..."
"Oh, don't be so dramatic." she says brusquely. "Yes, they're from Canary Wharf, the reused parts of the Cybermen." She glances at his face. "We repurpose useful things, Doctor. Why should we leave those parts to waste when they can serve a purpose? Everything can be reused, and that's what we do here. It's really a form of recycling. Those parts, other alien technology—"
"People." He lets his voice get cold, releasing a little of the rage that's seething in his stomach. "You repurpose people."
The woman raises her eyebrows. "That little girl would have been nothing without us, Doctor. Even without her odd powers, she's a strange one. Likely would have ended up on the streets. No, she's much more useful here, being researched for the benefit of all humankind. Those inhibitors were necessary."
He scoffs. "No real brains of your own, that's always what Torchwood has been. You take the best parts of humanity, of other races, their achievements and triumphs, for good or ill. However barbaric the Cybermen inhibitors are, at least they developed it on their own. You would've never been able to create something that stops the sheer raw power of that girl on your own."
The Matron inclines her head. "When she's ready, of course, she'll be an excellent weapon.
"Against who?"
She looks him dead in the eye, and he feels a chill as he feels the answer before she says it. "Against you, of course, Doctor. You've been an ally to Earth, certainly. But what if you ever turn against us? If you want something that isn't for the good of humanity? Too much power can be corruptive, you know. We need someone to stop you when that happens."
He refuses to show her that that gets to him. "Turning beings into weapons never ends well. Weapons never end well."
"Spoken like a true coward." She smiles at him patronizingly.
"How are you going to weaponize her when she can't use her abilities without being in pain?"
"Well, we can regulate how much we let through. Never all of it, but in certain situations, perhaps... more. After this little adventure of hers, she clearly needs a higher setting." She speaks with confidence, but the Doctor can see the harsh yearning in her eyes. She wants Lana back.
"You never mean to take them off?" He asks her, fishing for more information.
"They'll grow with her. Why would we need to?" She smiles, and now that he's looking, he sees a slight strain to it. "No, Doctor, to get them off I'm afraid you'll need to cut off her hands."
"That's enough." A new voice, walking out from the corridor behind the Matron. Lana stands there, and she's holding a gun. Her eyes are wild, but her hands are steady.
The Doctor clenches his jaw as he realizes that this girl is no longer naïve.
"Hello, darling!" The Matron smiles widely, her face smooth. "This is quite the expedition you've had, isn't it? Don't worry, we have it in hand. You just let me take care of it, and I'll try and keep you from your consequences."
The Doctor feels sick, but Lana just blinks hard. He glances at her, and she nods. The timer is set.
"Tell me how to get these things off." Lana levels the gun. "Do it, or I'll use this."
The Matron laughs. It's a cold, hard thing, like the sound of ice cracking. "You've grown a spine, have you? But we both know you wouldn't dare."
"You wanna call my bluff?"
Matron sighs, shaking her head. "You know, they told me I was giving you too much freedom."
"Put down the gun, Lana." The Doctor says. Her gaze snaps onto him. There's something fragile there, and he knows he has to be careful. "We don't use guns."
"Why?" She demands. "You have something against justice? Do you know what these people have done to me, what she's done to me?"
"I know, but we can't be like them. We have to be better."
"If I go with you, will I just be trading one prison for another? Are you going to chain me up because I use a gun?"
"Of course not." He looks at her, imploring. "Of course I won't."
At that moment, the Matron breaks and sprints towards cover in the next corridor. Lana, face taut with pain and fear, raises the gun.
Time freezes and the Doctor feels his seventh sense open wide as he sees timelines branching in two directions, four, one hundred—
Lana points down and shoots the woman in the foot. The Matron screams and collapses. The Doctor closes his eyes for a moment as Lana walks over to the Matron and crouches.
"You tell me how to get them off." She says quietly. "Or it'll be your hand next."
Matron looks up at her, tears running down her face as she holds her foot. "I meant what I told the Doctor." She says, her voice still strong and full of contempt. "You'll have to cut your hands off, girl. What price are you willing to pay?"
Lana, face white, raises the gun to the Matron's left hand.
"Wait!" The other woman and the Doctor both shout. "You can stop the pain. The password is Victoria." The Doctor immediately points his sonic. Now that he knows the password, he can change the setting without killing her.
Lana sighs in relief, then stands up. "We have five minutes till the explosion, Doctor."
He nods. "Then we'd better get going."
"Are you going to kill everyone here?" The Matron hisses. "So much for your famous mercy, Doctor."
He just rolls her eyes and points his sonic at the device linked to the megaphone in the building. "Hello, it's the Doctor. You might have heard of me, I destroyed your last operation, and I'm about to destroy this one. There's a bomb going off in about five minutes, but all of you will be able to make it outside if you run. Oh, and we've got your leader on the ground, so if that helps your decision. It's about four and a half minutes, now."
Four and a half minutes later, all the Torchwood employees are out in the blinding sunlight and debris is scattered everywhere with a fire raging behind them. They're being put into custody by UNIT. To his disappointment, Martha isn't there—it's the year 2024, and she's probably retired by now. He's avoiding the details, since he's a bit out of his own timeline at the moment.
The tall, confident blond woman in charge comes up to him and shakes his hand. "The Doctor, I presume?"
"You've met me?" He asks. "I haven't met you."
"Yes, I have met the Doctor. Just not this one." She winks at him. "We'll have these people in a place where they can't do anyone harm again, I promise you."
"Well, aren't you going to introduce yourself?" He prods, then suppresses a wince at a pulse of temporal feedback.
She gives him a knowing look. "Best not." She's about to walk away, when Lana comes up to him, trailing a shock blanket behind her like she doesn't know what to do with it.
"What's going to happen to me?" She demands. "I won't live with these for the rest of my life."
"We'll figure it out." He promises her. "I have some ideas." Not very good ones, but ideas.
The blond woman is staring at Lana. "So, this is how it begins." She murmurs. "I didn't think..."
"What are you talking about?" The girl asks, tugging her braid. "Do I know you?"
"Not yet." And with that, the mysterious woman spins on her heel and claps loudly. "UNIT, move out!"
Donna moves up to him, so they're all three standing together. "Do we trust her?"
"Erm..." He cocks his head. "I think I do. Did. Will. I think I will."
Donna gives him her you're insane look. "You're not making any sense."
"Tenses can be hard!" He protests.
Donna opens her mouth to keep bickering but then looks at Lana, who's looking at them warily. The Doctor clears his throat. "Er, anyway. Lana, would you follow me back into the TARDIS? If we're going to get you help, it's not going to be on Earth, in this time."
The Doctor sees her nod, then looks back at the ruins of the building. "I was going to escape, and then come back and burn it to the ground." She says in a tone completely void of emotion, dark hair whipping in the wind. Her blue jumpsuit is stark against the orange and red fires. "But this is better."
Something about her tone and the look in her eyes feels almost familiar. Her expression is hard, eyes smoldering with something that he knows from experience burns darker and longer than a quick flame. His time senses quiver, the fixed moment in time still sending aftershocks.
Why was it fixed? What could have happened if Lana had shot the Matron to kill? And why does that expression feel familiar? He's not sure. There was certainly nothing of this in the child he'd met before (nothing he'd been able to see)—no, this was forged by Torchwood. In that, he can understand her anger. Maybe something a little deeper than anger.
"Why is it better?" Donna asks, her voice gentle, like she's soothing a wild animal. Lana, if anything, stiffens in response.
"Most of the building was cement. I don't know if fire would be as effective." Then she spins on her heel and drops the shock blanket. "Where are we going?"
The Doctor inclines his head in the direction of the TARDIS, still eyeing her. "The TARDIS is this way."
(No, he doesn't know what's familiar about her. He shakes it off as seeing that in her as a child, but something about the way she accepted the violence, then turned away without a second thought makes something inside him shiver.)