Work Text:
He was excellent at this. They never got so much as a flinch out of him.
It was getting very old, though. It must have been months now. Years, maybe. And there was no end in sight.
“Good morning,” the aggravatingly cheery voice greeted him. “Almost afternoon, actually. Sorry I’m running a touch late, you know how it is, between trips and meetings and all. I keep meaning to keep a diary so I’m on time, but I’ve never gotten around to buying one.”
Braxiatel said nothing, staring back in icy silence. This one was a later face than he had known before, but there was still a familiar something about the eyes, a sparkle that reminded him of a little boy who liked to run too fast and climb too high and beg for piggyback rides.
“This is all hardly necessary,” he said calmly for what must have been the millionth time. “I’ll gladly tell you anything you wish to know.”
Knowing, of course, that any information he had was useless. And that he had not been and would never be asked for it.
This wasn’t that kind of torture.
“You’re not even the slightest bit curious why I came back?”
The man grinned brightly and gave his robes a vicious flick that sent ripples to the floor. “Not really, no, because you never did. My brother is cleverer than that. No, you are some other version of him, from some other universe. Which means—”
“Is this about to devolve into dreams of conquest?”
The laugh. That was unfamiliar. “Oh, no. You think I don’t have enough killing and paperwork right here? What it means is that there is no one, anywhere, who is out there looking for you.”
The first kick was always the worst, digging right into yesterday’s tender wound. He doubled over. He gasped. But he would not make a sound.
“I do not like it here.”
“And she can’t even see all…this. What are we still doing here?”
“What exactly do you propose we do, Narvin?” Romana was carefully picking her way across a pile of rubble—twisted metal, crumbling stone, and other things she didn’t want to look at too closely. “Stand still in the street for a day until the portal returns?”
“Something very close to that, yes!”
“Nonsense! Where is your sense of adventure?”
“I must have misplaced it somewhere between the civil war and the zombie plague.”
“Optimism, then. We won’t know what’s here until we look.” In truth, she didn’t feel good about this Gallifrey, either. It seemed ominously empty, at least in this section of town—though she was sure she’d seen distant movement. But she had decided—last week—that if this was going to be the rest of their life, she was going to try to treat it like they had chosen to explore the universe, and see if that made it a little more fun.
“Optimism?”
“Optimism,” chirped K-9 in their ears, “hopefulness and confidence about the future—”
“Hush, K-9!” Romana said quickly, before he could start about the pointlessness of such a position. If K-9 and Narvin agreed on something, either the world would explode or she would lose the argument, and she wasn’t having either. “The point is, I don’t feel like giving up on this world before we’ve seen any of it. If we’re going to start doing that, we may as well give up entirely and sit around on the Axis for eternity. Would you prefer that?”
Narvin didn’t answer.
“Romana is right,” Leela said after a long pause. “I still do not like it here. I think someone will try to kill us, as they always do. But I do not want to live on the Axis forever, and we must always have hope.”
“Really? You too?”
“Yes, me too. Come along, Narvin.”
“We should at least find a clearer route.”
“I can manage,” Leela said firmly, and promptly stumbled over a large chunk of building. She did, at least, catch herself before falling to her knees on the sharp-looking bit of metal in front of her.
“Here, Leela, take my hand and we’ll climb it together.” Romana had scrambled back down the mountain of rubble faster than Narvin had ever seen her move. She was wearing a rather nice set of casual robes, but several of the glittering beads in its neckline pattern had fallen off and she had tied the hem up in a knot around her knees. Her cheeks were flushed pink. She looked suspiciously close to smiling.
“Or we could find a road that isn’t covered in…oh, forget it.” Leela had already taken Romana’s hand and was letting herself be led across the mess.
Narvin fell three times in their treck down that particularly unsafe road. Leela barely stumbled. By the end of it, she was actually laughing, while he had to use his robes to pat at his bloodied knees.
“We should have just stayed put!” he grumbled as they—finally—started down a proper section of road.
“It is not all that bad,” Leela was still smiling, “We must be near the Citadel now.”
“Yeah, Narvin.” Why Romana looked so happy, he couldn’t fathom. “Cheer up! At worst it’ll be one more place to scratch of the list.”
“At worst they’ll shoot us dead! Or interrogate us again! I recall you didn’t enjoy that last time, Romana!”
It was a cruel thing to say, and he regretted it when her eyes darkened. She didn’t say, how dare you. Or, we’re better prepared now. She didn’t say anything. She didn’t need to. He found himself biting back an apology, and then distracted by where in Rassilon’s name the idea of apologizing, genuinely and without the formality of politics, had come from.
The women ignored him the rest of the short walk, and then went on with their exploration as though the uncomfortable moment hadn’t occurred at all.
“It’s probably about time to be done for today, isn’t it? I do have some real work I should be getting back to. If I can remember where I left that form—damn. My Lord President will throw a fit if I don’t turn it in. Ah well, I’m sure it’ll turn up. They usually do. Sometimes in my sock drawer.”
Braxiatel didn’t trust himself to answer. He was still wearing robes—his robes, his own, Romana and Leela and Narvin had quickly shed their old clothes for whatever they could find, but Brax had a certain image to maintain and little else to his name—but they were worn ragged now. This stranger, his brother, hadn’t even bothered to strip the golden collar and jeweled trim. Sometimes he pressed the jewels through the fraying fabric into soft skin.
Braxiatel had never and would never give in. He did not groan, or whimper, or yelp. He did not even raise a hand to wipe away the blood that was streaming over bruised skin and into his eyes. But more and more he found himself holding his breath to keep quiet, and just at this moment he couldn’t have gotton up for anything. And how he wished he could, because Lord Burner liked nothing more than to see him on his knees. He trembled only very slightly.
“This was fun! Must do it again! As long as I don’t get myself killed for losing that form—oh, well. I’ll make up another one maybe, who can tell?”
He left without saying goodbye. He never said goodbye. But on the way out he ran into the doorframe and bounced off it like a ball before righting himself and dusting off his robes.
Braxiatel slumped to the floor. That was the worst of it. Not the pain itself, but that he was being held and tortured by a clownish fool.
The pain was no picnic either, though. Several bruises complained when he hit the ground, and he gritted his teeth. How many days had it been since he had eaten? Lord Burner was very careful about that. He was always weak, always hungry, but never in danger of truly starving.
Which was why he absolutely could not allow himself to vomit.
“Are you happy now, Romana?”
“Shut up, Narvin.”
“Shut up, all of you,” growled the guardsman in charge. Her armor was alaborately cast but practical and tight-fitting. Like someone who actually had to be prepared to fight. Her eyes flicked past Leela and Narvin and landed on Romana, where they stayed. “Are you back for another beating? I really didn’t think I’d be seeing you again after the last time, Renegade.”
Great. Althought, maybe it was something to know that not every version of her out there put up with Gallifrey’s bullshit. Am I the Doctor here? That would be something.
“You don’t seem to know my friends, do you?”
“I said—”
“Specifically, you don’t look like someone acquainted with Leela, or you would have more than a single staser pointed in her direction.”
“And that was a mistake you will not live to regret!”
Leela got them free of the three guards quickly. Narvin did snatch one of the stasers before its owner could pull the trigger, allowing time for them to be punched in the face instead. Romana mostly stood there waiting.
“Yes, Narvin, to answer your question. I am happy—or satisfied, at least—that we now know exactly why this world isn’t viable. Shall we move on?”
“Please.”
“Wait.” Leela had not moved from where she still stood over the guards’ still bodies. “Did you hear that?”
“Hear what? More guards?”
“No. Someone moaning. Like they are hurt.”
“Well, that’s unfortunate for them, but I for one would like to get out of here.”
“Narvin, wait.”
“No. Absolutely not. We had an agreement, remember? You both said yes to it. We agreed that we cannot save the people on these worlds. We can’t fix them! They were so broken that people more powerful than any of us took them completely out of reality. We’re not going to solve any of that!”
“You are right,” Leela was nodding, to his very brief relief, “But we could save one person.”
“Romana? You can’t really be considering this.”
“Leela, what exactly do you think you heard?”
“I know that I heard someone in pain. Someone trapped. That is all.”
Hours of banging on the door, when she was so desperate she forgot herself, forgot no one was there to save her. Many, many more curled on the floor…
“Fine. We can let one person out of whatever cell they’re trapped in—that’s final, Narvin, it’s only one—and then we will track the path of the portal and find somewhere to wait. Is that acceptable?”
“Do I have a choice?”
“Not really.”
“In that case, might I make a suggestion?”
“Yes, Narvin, what is it?”
“Before we go trying to pick any locks or break down any doors,” he bent over the lead guard, “Why don’t we see how far this gets us?”
“A Gallifrey with key cards?”
He shrugged and pocketed it. “Apparently.”
Braxiatel used to like the color purple. It was beautiful, noble. He had a dozen robes in it, all different fabrics and styles, though the rags he wore now had been deep red. But after staring at this Rassilon-damned purple wallpaper for however long it had been…
No, that was sloppy. If he thought for a moment…yes. Two years and fifty-eight days. Not really that long in the grand scheme of any sentient life, much less a Time Lord’s, whatever his bruised skin and cracked bones insisted on telling him. His brother had never been able to focus for long, and this version of him seemed especially flighty. He would get bored eventually, and cut him free or—more likely—kill him. And yes, that would probably happen one regeneration at a time, but he was sure by that point he wouldn’t much care one way or the other.
Anyway, the point had been that after more than two years of lying on this bloodstained carpet and staring at that purple wallpaper, he despised it more than he had ever despised anything—
The lock clicked.
That was wrong. Unless, of course he had passed out—no, his time sense would have caught up with that after a few moments. It was much too soon for another visit, and he had never seen anyone else here. He was too far away from the rest of the Citadel for anyone to hear his screams. Not even in a proper cell with the proper prisoners—he suspected this was a long-neglected bedroom up in a tower somewhere, that no one knew about him, that Lord Burner kept him solely as a personal amusement.
But the lock clicked and the door swung open, creaking slowly. Not slamming open to hit the wall. This was different and wrong. He forced down thoughts of rescue—he didn’t even exist here—and tried to turn his aching neck enough to see who loomed over him now.
“Get up!” snapped an oddly accented voice. “You are free to go!”
No. It couldn’t be.
“By Rassilon’s grave!”
Well, there was no mistaking that judgemental, if shocked, tone.
And then the brush of a soft satin glove against his cheek and she was kneeling in front of him, where he could see. And his cheeks burned hot. Where there should have been relief, gratitude, his chest filled only with horror. He had never seen such a look of genuine, almost gentle, concern on Romana’s face. Narvin, behind her now, also looked horrified.
He tried to pull himself together. Took a deep breath and sat up, damn his shaking limbs.
“Fancy meeting you all here.” But his voice had lost its usual cool smoothness. How long had it been weak and soft like this? Had he only imagined that he could still seem strong in the face of pain?
“Braxiatel?” Leela was kneeling now too, doing that thing she did where her hands checked for wounds better than eyes could. “Our Brax?”
Romana’s gloved hand was supporting his arm, and the spot where she touched burned—with genuine pain or only the shame of it all, he wasn’t even sure. He pulled away from Leela. “Yes, stop it! It’s—it’s nice to see you and all, but if you’re here you have a portal. So can we get out of here?”
“You look—well, terrible. Can you walk?” Narvin had completely dropped his usual calm and his eyes didn’t stop scanning Brax’s face and limbs. The man had never even liked him, for Rassilon’s sake!
Romana still had not said a word, though she kept a hand carefully propping him up. He did look terrible. His face was mottled purple, his hair—grown out now—was matted with blood, his eyes were hollow. His face looked—well, it looked like the one that still haunted her in the mirror.
Now, she took a deep breath—this was good, they had not lost him after all—and wrapped both hands around his arm without waiting for his answer. “Come on, let’s take you home.”
Brax did not argue. He even leaned on her. But he did not say a word, not to any of them, for the hours they spent in hiding on that wretched planet, nor for many days after they made it back through the portal.