Work Text:
The Cave
Whumptober Prompt: Shock (day 21)
The Doctor did not believe in premonition. He believed in science. No, he trusted science. And science, as grand and as wonderful as it was, simply did not have evidence to support the idea that one could know future events before they occurred. Not even a Time Lord had all of the answers, though they often pretended otherwise. Premonition didn’t count when you had literally seen the outcome of, say, a set of lottery numbers. That was a different matter entirely.
But something that wasn’t premonition or some other tomfoolery was making him feel rather queasy. The Brigadier had been gone for a long time, exploring a cave system with a small group of men that he considered up to the task. There was nothing unusual about that. Nothing at all. Perhaps they’d run into traffic, or an angry herd of deer. Yes, they were probably trapped and cowering in their great big military trucks awaiting permission to launch torpedoes at the terrifying bucks and does staring them down from the other side of the car park.
Still, the Doctor chewed bite marks into his pencil. Still, he glanced at the clock every twenty minutes to find that only five minutes had passed. Still, his foot tapped so loudly and so rapidly against the floor that Liz was giving him a death glare over her own stack of paperwork.
“Liz?” he asked, finally dropping the pencil onto the desk before he could accidentally snap the thing in half.
“Mmhmm?”
She didn’t look up until she realized he wasn’t going to speak until she did. Her withering gaze caught his eye, and he blushed.
“I’m sorry, Liz. I’m feeling rather anxious today.”
“So am I.” She leaned back in her chair with a great sigh. Casting away her own pencil, she settled both of her hands against the back of her head. “Are you worried about the Brigadier, too?”
The Doctor nodded. At his admission, Liz sat up straighter. She set both of her hands on the desktop and looked him deep in the eye.
“Doctor,” she said sternly, “I think we should go down there.”
“Into the cave?”
The Doctor had to admit he’d been thinking the same thing. But it was foolish; of course it was! If something had happened to the away party, then the same fate might befall himself and Liz. Then yet another party would be sent down, and so forth, until the entire operation was turned into a nationwide dilemma.
Or…or he and Liz could find the Brigadier and the other soldiers, fix whatever trouble they’d gotten themselves into, and sort it all out before tea.
And the Doctor was keen on having this matter settled by teatime.
“Alright, Liz.”
“Yes?” she asked, rather surprised.
The Doctor stood so quickly that his chair squeaked against the tile floor.
“If I try to fill out one more piece of government paperwork, I think I’ll go mad.” He snatched his favorite blue coat from the hangar and pulled the door open. “And anyway, why should the Brigadier have all the fun?”
. . . . .
This morning, working quietly in the lab with Liz, seemed a million years ago.
The Doctor gazed at the men around him and felt an unbridled rage rising in his chest. Not rage at the alien creatures that had done this, though that was certainly not making him happy. No, this was rage he could only feel for himself. Why had he let these poor men go on their own? Why had he acted like a dejected school boy when the Brigadier told him to stay behind? What had made him think that they were exploring caves like some scientist out of a Jules Verne novel?
“S-sir?” One of the youngest of the men, a boy named Coulter, looked up at the Doctor as if he’d just seen his Messiah.
The Doctor knelt at his side and tried to ignore the deep red color embedded in the young man’s uniform. He set a gentle hand on Coulter’s shoulder and offered him a smile.
“I’m here,” he promised.
“Doc-Doctor…they’re not like you. These aliens. They’re - Agh!” Coulter squeezed his eyes shut, curling in around his wound. “They’re terrible, Doctor.”
“Alright, Coulter.”
The Doctor rubbed the man’s shoulder, trying to get a better look at the wound. Liz was already there, peeling away the uniform. When she’d peeked below the fabric, her head turned sharply to the Doctor.
She shook her head with a frown that lined her entire face.
The Doctor released a shaky breath. When he turned back to Coulter, he found the boy barely conscious.
“The Brig…sir, the Brigadier. He’s over…over there.”
Coulter used all of his energy to look over at the cave wall to his left. The Doctor followed his gaze to the pathway, which curved around the wall and led to a new corridor at the far side of the enclosed room.
When he next looked back at Coulter, the man was dead.
His hearts broke. Humans were good at that; breaking hearts. Mending them, too, sometimes, if only to break them again. The Doctor gently closed Coulter’s eyes and settled his hands across his chest, resting them just below his name badge and the UNIT insignia he’d worn so proudly these past three months.
Liz sniffed, and forced herself to her feet. She turned away, wiping at her eyes so that when the Doctor joined her, her face was a perfect mask.
He wondered if she’d learned that to be a doctor.
He wondered if she was wondering the same about him.
Neither of them spoke, as they rounded the corner with shaking legs that barely wanted to move. They didn’t need to speak. Either they’d find the Brigadier miraculously alive and well, or they’d find him another way. Nothing could possibly prepare them for the alternative, so there was no point discussing it.
No matter what, the Doctor realized, they’d all break his hearts, eventually. The soldiers, the Brigadier, Liz; everyone. It was only a matter of when.
He rounded the corner and found the Brigadier alive, but not well.
Alistair was on the floor of the cave, curled in on himself the same way Katie sometimes curled around her teddies when she was frightened by a nightmare. The Doctor ached at the comparison, but it was the only one he could find. The man’s eyes were a million miles away, breaths rattling through his chest in gasps that barely drew up oxygen. He seemed to be speaking to himself, unintelligible grunts that could’ve been a prayer or a stream of curses.
Liz squeezed the Doctor’s sleeve, and then hurried forward.
“Brigadier?”
She knelt at his side. Her caving jumpsuit made her look tiny. It bunched up around her legs and nearly covered her anxious, fretting hands as they held each other on her lap. Her wide eyes looked to the Doctor for guidance.
Liz was strong. And Liz needed help. Just like the Brigadier was strong, and very much needed help. The Doctor sucked in a shaky breath and settled his hand across Alistair’s forehead.
The man hardly flinched, eyes flicking back and forth as he continued his trembling, wordless murmurs.
“I’ve got you, old chap,” said the Doctor. He stroked his hand across the Brigadier’s forehead, pushing his hair back. “Can you hear me?”
The Doctor continued his ministrations, and added a second hand to cradle the Brigadier’s jaw, holding his head in place. He tried to find the man’s gaze, but it drifted away from him every time he tried to make contact. Failing this, he stroked his thumb against the Brigadier’s sideburns.
“Alistair.”
“Doc-” the Brigadier finally made a sound that resembled a word, or at least the beginnings of one. His eyes flitted across the Doctor’s, then settled again against the opposite wall. “I couldn’t…I couldn’t stop them.”
“It’s alright,” soothed the Doctor. “Are you hurt?”
The Doctor was terrified to look away from the Brigadier’s face. If he found an injury like Coulter’s…well, he wouldn’t know what he would do. Perhaps the world would end. Perhaps, at the very least, his world would end.
“I…I can’t…”
Liz’s hand locked around the Doctor’s upper arm.
“Doctor,” she whispered, “He’s in shock. We need to get him back to the surface.”
“I know. I just don’t know how.”
Liz shifted closer. Anxiety showed itself in Liz’s wide eyes and trembling fingers that took hold of the Brigadier’s hand. Her voice remained steady as ever.
“Alistair?” She waited until his glassy eyes turned in her general direction before continuing. “I’m going to make sure you’re not injured, alright?”
If he understood what she’d said, he didn’t show it. His eyes darted back and forth across her face, wide and innocent and heartbreaking. When Liz moved to unbutton the top of his uniform jacket, he jumped back, digging his body as close to the ground as possible.
The Doctor set a hand on his chest.
“It’s only Liz.” He massaged soothing circles over the Brigadier’s heart. “We’d never hurt you, old chap.”
Liz met the Doctor’s eye. They had a silent conversation, as they often did. But never had their thoughts been so dark. Never had their eyes been so full of fear. The Brigadier simply wasn’t meant to be like this - frightened and confused and weak. The only injuries he ever suffered were small things, things that were fixable and laughable and cured with a few painkillers and a week’s sick leave.
This was something else.
Liz continued her work, unbuttoning the Brigadier’s jacket until she was able to reach the shirt underneath. When she went to undo his tie, she realized her hands were shaking violently. It took all of her ability to undo the knot. When it finally loosened, she slid the fabric away and held it in a tightly closed fist.
Breathe in. Breathe out.
He’s alive. He’s alive, and they have all of UNIT’s medical wing at their disposal. (If they ever get back to the surface). He’s alive and he’s not completely unresponsive. (Liz had never seen his eyes so distant). He’s alive and the Doctor is here to save the day. (The Doctor’s eyes were filled with unshed tears and Liz was starting to panic).
“Okay,” she whispered, grounding herself with another breath.
She undid the rest of the buttons and opened the shirt. A breath of relief rolled out of her, almost letting her smile. He wasn’t injured. Not any of his vital organs, at least. There was no blood, no burn, no mark. He was not going to die like Coulter. He was going to be okay. Liz would make sure of that.
Liz buttoned his shirt up again before she could second guess herself. He was fine. He was fine, and his shirt was covering him again and he would be back to his old self soon enough. The Doctor stroked the hair back from the Brigadier’s forehead, hushing the quiet murmurs he was making. Liz ushered his hand away and settled both of her hands on the side of the Brigadier’s head.
“Alistair?” She again waited until his eyes met hers, even if it only lasted a moment. “Can you tell us what happened? We want to help you.”
“They…” the Brigadier closed his eyes and swallowed. He released a shaky breath and then found Liz’s eyes again. “I failed. My men, they all…again.”
“Shh,” Liz stroked her thumb across his cheek, using the other hand to stroke fingertips through his hair. “This is not your fault.”
“It…it was like vapor. A ghost story. But real.” He gasped for another breath. “Right…right in front of me.”
The Doctor pressed his hand closer against the Brigadier’s chest.
“Easy; just relax.”
The Doctor moved his fingertips to the Brigadier’s temple. After years of UNIT training, he was impervious to Timelord mind control tricks. But the Doctor sent waves of calming thoughts through his brain anyway. It seemed to break through some of the barriers in his mind. The Brigadier’s frown softened, his tightened muscles loosening just enough to let him relax more comfortably on the cave floor.
“There we go,” said the Doctor. “You just rest now.”
The Brigadier’s eyelids fluttered until he was closer to unconsciousness. His breathing slowed until the Doctor was sure he was at least half asleep.
He met Liz’s red-rimmed eyes with his own.
“Doctor…” Liz murmured, shaking her head. “What do we do?”
The Doctor took in a deep, shaky breath.
“I’m not sure.” He looked around the space, which all of a sudden felt even darker, even spookier, even more claustrophobic.
“I’m not sure.”