Broken: A Time Lord's Story (Doctor Who Novel)

Chapter 7 Hang On, You Are About to Dance

The Doctor opened his eyes to find himself lying once more in the dark and that was alright.  The blackness made hiding from both the pain and the monsters easier. Once his eyes adjusted, he realised the blurry thing in front of him was a cold, grey concrete wall. Something was different; his brain didn't feel right. He felt thick and disconnected from his surroundings. A sledgehammer inside his head sat behind his right eye pounding the inside of his skull making rational thought hard. The throbbing was severe enough that it made him nauseous. He stared at the wall, afraid that if he moved, he would lose control of his stomach. He tried to remember what he was doing in this place. A sudden need to cough brought his predicament back in all its excruciating glory.  Somehow he'd landed in a prison where the keepers had a penchant for beating the universe out of him.

A muscle spasm sent fire shooting down into his fingertips, forcing him to move; to do something to relieve the deep ache. He counted to ten, drew a breath and pushed himself up, hissing as pain shot through his body. He grinned when he made it upright.‬ It was a small victory. Now all he needed to do was find a way to force reason back in his muddled head. Directly in front of him he made out a denti in the wall, providing  a perfect focus point to clear his thinking.

Something must have brought him here, but he couldn't quite remember what. It danced on the edges of his consciousness. They wanted something ... his ship. They wanted his ship. He remembered sending Sexy away -- for help. But she'd been gone too long. The old girl had a habit of not being reliable, but this was ridiculous. Maybe something happened to her, and she wasn't or couldn't come back. He'd sent for Amy and Rory, he remembered that. He had trouble picturing them in his head. They were like a half-forgotten dream. Even if they came, it might not be too late. He still had hope, but it was so long now.

Maybe he'd whacked his head during his last training session? That certainly would explain the headache, but the effort to think just made the pain worse. His anxiety notched up a level. He forced a calming breath. He had to hide that from K'Nar. He'd promised to take her home, and there was no need to scare her. At least, no matter what happened to him, Sexy was safe and far away from the clutches of the psychopathic bitch and Moron. Without his link, the ship would take herself into the vortex or land on a dusty planet and shut herself down. Either way, she was safe. That's all that mattered. God, thinking was hard. ‬ ‬

Someone had refilled his water cup and set it by the end of the mattress. Whilst a lovely gesture, they could have set it closer. He inhaled as deeply as possible. Pain shot through his jaw as he unconsciously gritted his teeth. He scooted down and wrapped his hand around the cool metal container. The simple success made him feel as if he'd driven off a Dalek invasion. The cold, tinny flavoured liquid slid down his parched throat. The effort left him exhausted though, which was annoying. ‬

He leaned back, sipped the water and tried to focus on clearing the fog from his brain.‭ He was falling into a bout of fatalism, and that wouldn't do. What he needed was a cold shower to chase the cobwebs out. ‬Lack of sleep mixed with constant pain made keeping things straight difficult. That's why he had this muddled feeling: lack of sleep messing with his thinking. In the beginning, they'd caught him asleep once. He wasn't ready for them then, but now .... Now, he didn't sleep; ‬at least not if he could help it. Somehow, knowing they couldn't surprise him anymore provided a bit of comfort and kept his fear under control. Sooner, or later, rescue would happen or the psychopath and her minions would go too far. ‬‭ ‬

Dying might not be so bad. He'd already decided not to regenerate, so at some point,‭ ‬he would go to sleep,‭ ‬and not wake up. Maybe it would be peaceful. Everybody had to die sometime.

He felt K'Nar's presence brush gently against his mind. The brief touch flooded him with relief. These were the moments he lived for now. The brief encounters with a remarkable child who, for some reason, fed his soul. She sent a surge of energy, reassuring him that she was okay and begged him to sleep. He closed his eyes against the headache and promised one more time: they would find some way out of this place. He would find a way to get her home. The mental touch broke at the sound of footsteps coming toward the cell.