Two Birds in a Cage, 8/?
Title: Two Birds in a Cage
Characters: alt!Sarah Jane, alt!Three, Section Leader Shaw, Brigade Leader Lethbridge-Stewart, references alt!Jo
Summary: Miles below the earth, in the most secret and heavily guarded of all their prisons, they keep a man who builds them weapons that are decades and sometimes centuries ahead of their time. Reports come back of the things they bring him: books, chemicals, lab equipment. Young girls.
Notes: An AU for the Inferno-verse, which I guess makes it an AU of an AU. Basically, the Doctor we know never popped in from our universe, but their version of the Doctor has been their prisoner for as long as he has been in exile. Oh, and the world never burned up, obviously.
Warnings: Descriptions of torture (including allusions to sexual assault). A friendship with occasional Stockholm Syndrome overtones. Stockholm Syndrome.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Light. Black. Light.
Flickering over her eyelids, down down down, it’s all happening again, bumping against-
Darkness. Light. Darkness.
Light.
Darkness…
Slap! And the Doctor hand connects, stinging hard, with her cheek, sparks going off in her head-
“I forbid you to go to sleep. Do you hear me? Hold on, hold on, just a little longer-”
Her head falls back down against his shoulder. The sting in her skin already fading beneath the (sting at the back of her throat) jolting wheels in her mind, the crushing pressure on her back (the Doctor is carrying her-where are his handcuffs-where are her-
She has to hold on or she will fall, fly out of his arms, hurtling, they are hurtling, spiral down down down darkness…
“No!”
And his hand yanks hard in her hair, a red flash of piercing pain, and she remembers his hands-he burst through the door with the handcuffs still hanging from one wrist and the metal banged into her temple as he grabbed her hair to pull her up (Anderson grabs her hair in The Room and pulls her down) from the floor and he shoved the fingers of his other hand into her mouth and down her throat, shouting blaring-white words that flared and faded into the walls, about flawed hypotheses and pushing things too far, and the tea came up, fire-burning, and the food came up over his finger and onto the carpet and-
With a basal metabolic rate from the Cunningham formula, she still has-
The voices, and the memories, and no lines in between, no borders, she is falling into the Doctor, his shoulder and his mind, all the edges of things are melting…
She is cold and the Doctor is warm and that’s (bad) impossible (if he feels warm think how cold you must be) and all the edges are melting until there is nothing left, that’s what the Section Leader said, nothing left (‘it took a lot to soften you up’ and a pleasant soft buzz inside her head watching the poison flower quiver beneath the butterfly and whispering silently ‘drink drink drink’)
Darkness…
Slap!
Light.
“You-“
Darkness.
Slap!
“Are-”
Slap!
Light.
“Not-”
Darkness-
Slap!
“Allowed-“
CRASH! And the cell door slams open with the sound of the world breaking, metal against metal (against bone, the sounds of hammer against bone, saws against-she screams and it echoes, rattles the metal instruments in their tray) and time skips like a rock over water and-
Bed, with the pillows and blanket rising up around her like soft mountains, and everything is red, bathed in scarlet from the shining dragon eye that hangs over her and the Doctor is crawling under the covers and pulling her against his chest and stroking her skin where he hit her and rubbing her arms down to her fingers restore circulation get the blood flowing and it makes ripples in the fabric of time, and he is saying “Now you can” sleep “now, now, it’s all right” I’m so sorry “I can help you” do you want me to “help you” sleep “I can” help you “make you” warm inside your head if I just reach in, just reach in to help you-
(“Would you like me to save you?” whispers Beth Shaw in the bed, stroking her hair)
“Ssh, shh, I won’t-” and his hands are on her back now, over the fabric of her shirt, her head pressed into the fabric of his shirt, no skin touching, so why can she still hear everything, why can she still hear the whole universe-
“Shh, shh. Still now. I won’t. Sssh.”
Shivering, shaking, her whole body shaking apart, teeth chattering like they’re going to leap out of her skull, her fingers twitching helpless unable to let go of him when he is so warm-when she can melt into him because he’s so warm-
“It’s all right. It’s all right. The shivering means you’re getting back to normal temperature. You’ll be all right.”
And the dragons crawl out of the cracks of the universe where he broke it when he slammed open the door and she sees them reaching for him, claws and fangs snaking sideways through the gaps in time, crawling up out of the well, reaching for him to rip him to shreds and take him away, and she clutches him to her, you can’t have him he’s mine-
“Sssh. Sssh. I’m right here. I’m all right. I’m right here.”
She wants to tell him-him, something, she wants to tell-oh god, she’s so cold, she’s ice and he’s warm-her eyelids heavy, all her limbs heavy, but he’ll hurt her if she lets herself keep falling, he did, he is, he will, he promised not to but…
His hands rubbing her hands, his thumb pressing deep as it sweeps wrist to knuckles, wrist to knuckles.
“Sssh. You can go to sleep now. I won’t force you. But you can.”
Darkness. Light. She wants so badly to be warm. The only, only, only thing she wants. Darkness…
“Sssh. Sssh, Sarah Jane.”
xxxxx
It is that night after the Manchester disaster where they nearly all died, and Dottie and Audrey are asleep on the mattress before the crackling fireplace, Fitzoliver’s small frame curled in his sleeping bag as close to the heat of the flames as he can get, and they are all alive where she can see them, and she and Andy and Sully are piled in a heap on the couch, careful of Andy’s leg, toasty-warm and lazy and cozy as they hold each other, SJ’s lips holding the frost-chill of the air for just a second before she kisses Andy and they are warm, she kisses Sully and they are warm again, she shifts in the slowly swelling tide of blankets to let them kiss and she is warm deep in her chest and down to her toes, her best friends, her very best friends…
The Doctor is sitting in his green armchair, next to the couch. He is holding someone in his lap.
“It was just kissing,” she says. “It was just a bit of comfort. It wasn’t like she said it was, in The Room.”
“It’s only biology,” he says. “You needn’t be ashamed.”
“Is this a dream?”
He looks away from her, into the fire. “I helped her sleep, and I gave her sweet dreams.” His hand comes up to cup the head of the girl in his lap, fine golden hair spilling over his fingers. “And then I helped her sleep a little longer. And a little longer.”
xxxxx
Reality is whole again.
She feels this even before she opens her eyes, and when she opens her eyes the bed and the blankets are a solid warm cocoon woven around her, and she does not feel herself sinking into the Doctor where she is pressed against his chest, or where his arms wrap like iron around her back, or where his legs have pinned hers together. She can feel him breathing, and hear it, but the only voice in her head is her own. There are no sparking lights, melting walls, or dragons coming to take him away.
She is pressed so close to him that her eyelashes brush against the weave of his shirt, and her breath bounces back to her, hot and dizzying in the confined space.
SJ tries to shift, and the Doctor’s arms tighten around her.
She tries again, and it’s not an illusion, the Doctor is holding her there on purpose. SJ draws in as deep a lungful of air as she can, counts to ten. Lets the air out slowly, willing her heart to a steady rhythm. Shifts again, just enough to bring the top of her head to his neck.
You’re crushing me, she says. I just need a bit of air.
He flips her around, his arms snapping back firm and rigid around her waist.
The Doctor doesn’t seem in the mood for conversation, so SJ takes a moment to savor the touch of cool air on her face, and her ability to draw it deep into her lungs, and the way the whole world is being solid and holding still. A few inches from her face lies a spoon stained brown with tannin, and she flashes to a memory: her back against the Doctor’s chest as he leans against the headboard, one hand tipping her head back to make her swallow as the other guided the spoon back her lips, the burning hot liquid on her tongue, the bitter taste of weak tea, the dragon’s eye glaring down red-
The spoon and the sheets and her hands still have an odd reddish cast.
A little twist of her head-the Doctor’s legs lock even tighter-and she sees the jerry-rigged heat lamp hanging above them. Another memory leaps up like a splash of water out of a stream: the plug sliding in to the socket and the bulb blazing with light and then a loud pop! As sparks flew and everything outside the bed-curtain plunged into blackness…
And then the Doctor crawling back into bed with her, asking her if…
You wanted to go inside my head. To keep me warm. Her heart is speeding up again.
“I didn’t, though,” he says. His voice is shocking in the still air. “I took your attempt to claw my eyes out as a ‘no.’”
SJ doesn’t remember that, only him asking and then a burst of light, like a bursting of herself, bursting outward like breaking glass, breaking-
Did I hurt you?
“Just the hand. It’ll heal.”
She glances downward; jagged teeth-marks ring his fingers. He’d forced those fingers down her throat and she’d gagged, biting down hard-
Sorry.
“It’s nothing.”
He’s being too brisk, too dismissive, even while his unyielding arms and legs are pinning her in place as though he’s some sort of demented starfish.
The image makes her smile for a second, and keep her heart steady. SJ tries again. You feel like you’re burning up.
“I can control my body temperature. It’s how I kept you halfway stable on the way down here.”
That and slapping me silly. Silence. Maybe that’s pushing him too far. Is it safe? For you?
“More than seven hours means a headache. Vascular difficulties with the cranial arteries.” His arms press around her like a vise, pressure straight through muscle to bone. He is not letting go anytime soon. “You still have a few degrees to go until your temperature is normal.”
On cue, a shiver vibrates up SJ’s spine and down her arms. The Doctor flips her back towards him, her face mashed back into the fabric of his shirt with no ceremony or warning.
SJ grits her teeth and nudges her head up a hair harder than necessary, making the necessary skin contact to talk and, incidentally, striking a sharp blow against his chin with her skull. You needn’t be such a boor about it. Not as if I’ve anywhere to run, is it?
The Doctor responds directly neither to the assault nor to her words. Instead he shifts, the arm under her diving under the pillow. She hears the crinkle of foil, and then his other hand comes around with her piece of chocolate, melting where it touches his fingers. He brings it towards her mouth.
SJ presses her lips shut, turns her face into the mattress.
“You’ve lost a day’s worth of rations. Humans are furnaces. You need fuel.”
But I don’t need someone to shovel the coal in, she retorts. I can feed myself now, thank you.
The sound of grinding teeth, a huff, and then he raises his right arm, freeing her left. Still holding her so firmly that she cannot look up to see his face.
Not an ideal treaty, but a step. She takes the chocolate with her three fingers; her hands are still shaking a little but after all this time her grip is less awkward than it could be. She eats slowly, wary of the low seething of still-settling acid in her stomach, and also trying to buy time as she considers the Doctor’s behavior.
What’s gotten into him?
She licks the chocolate from her fingers, wipes them on his sleeve. Even that doesn’t get a twitch away from him.
She lets her touch fall a few inches to his skin.
What she dosed me with-same as you?
“Yes.” He’s gruff, impatient; for a moment she thinks that’s all she’s going to get, and then he adds, grudgingly: “It seemed to metabolize much more quickly in you than she suspected. She must not have done other trials on humans.” His voice goes dry. “I do keep telling her I’m not an adequate test subject.”
She presses her forehead against his chest, tries to make that say what she can’t.
He doesn’t say anything either. Damn.
Time for another tack.
The folder--
A long intake of breath. “I don’t have it.”
It’s like a punch to her chest, shards of collarbone and rib fracturing inward to pierce her heart. She lied about that too.
“I was about to open it,” he said. “And then you dropped the cup.”
And she can’t cry, because she’s been scoured and emptied and all that’s left of her is this shell, this hollow thing that the Doctor is holding onto so tightly she may shatter.
“I dropped it,” she hears him say, above her. “I did not even think to look down.” And his arms are squeezing her tight again, forcing her arms back against her sides, his hands shaking where they grip at her back. Beth has all the cards. “You are not leaving this room ever again.”
No, not hollow, not entirely.
There is still fear.
His right arm is pressed against her left; there is still contact. She is not going to panic. She is bound but not gagged. Deep breaths.
The Doctor is panicking right now. She cannot panic too.
Bad things happen when they both panic.
She takes in a deep breath, and then another. Wills her heart to a steady, even beat. Wills her eyes to dry. Wills-in the privacy of her own mind, without sending the thought-the Doctor to listen, to feel, to calm down.
His hands stop shaking-after a seconds? A few minutes? Longer?-and his breathing becomes less ragged, but he shows no inclination of letting go.
Okay. Fine. She can do this. She can.
Sarah Jane sends a thought: If you’re planning on keeping me here forever, I hope you remember that we mere humans do occasionally need to use the loo.
No response.
Doctor?
Doctor, that was your cue to tell me you’re not planning to keep me here forever.
A grunt. “Considering it.”
He’s talking. That’s good. Focus on the fact that he’s talking, not what he’s saying. Focus.
It’s your charming moods like these that make the Section Leader’s offer halfway tempting.
She waits, but there’s no response.
Not the least bit curious about that?
Silence. Damn. Okay, fine. She takes a deep breath. Time to bring out the big guns:
She wants me to spy on you, you know.
No comment.
He doesn’t even twitch.
It’s ridiculous, of course.
“You must do what you think is right.”
SJ is flabbergasted.
What-you think I’m going to-
“You forget, I could see your face the entire time.” His voice is bitter cold. “I’m fairly certain that was a gesture of assent at the end.”
SJ feels as though the bed is falling out from under her. His words ring hollow and distant in her ears. This is worse than she thought, this is so much worse- She drugged me! The walls were melting and I was hearing voices! I wasn’t exactly in a fit state to make a contract!
“You’ve made rather a point of keeping your word in the past.”
You’re twisting it all- She forces herself to take a breath. Promises with you matter.
“Oh, really?”
YES. She is pushing sincerity at him, trying to hold her mind open: see, see, see, there is nothing that I am hiding, see! Promises mean things to you. Even if you broke one, it would mean something.
“Don’t flatter me. You’re not terribly good at it.”
SJ huffs through gritted teeth. Purely on the merits then. Who would I be more likely to side with: the person who slapped me around a bit to keep me from passing out, or the person who chose what size hammer to have my fingers smashed with?
His hand slips to hers, just for a second. He pulls it back.
She can still feel those missing fingers, sometimes, the pain, as if she could look down and see them hanging there, useless strips of meat and bone. Other times they feel clenched tight, as though they are trying to force the rest of her hand into an angry fist.
SJ uses her anger to shove herself up onto her elbow, meet his eyes.
Oh, have I mentioned that she had me violated with a broom handle when her lackeys couldn’t perform? You think I’d work with her against you? I wouldn’t work with her on a flower arrangement!
He doesn’t meet her eyes. His voice is hoarse. “She’s the one with more power. She could make things easier for you.”
Oh, for- Sarah flops down, facing away from him. Do you have to be so pig-headed?! Tears are stinging her eyes, fighting to push through. The Section Leader poisoned me and you’re making it into a popularity contest. I don’t believe you.
Her throat seizes up on a long choked gasp, all the words she can’t speak, and the tears come again. He didn’t used to be able to make her cry. She gave him that power, stupid, stupid, stupid. She let his books and his sharing and his helplessness that one night convince her that he was different. Oh, if she could swallow this lump in her throat, this heavy black weight in her stomach, sinking. Ashes in her mouth. If she could just stop caring again.
“Sarah-”
But she pulls away from him. He’s not letting go, but she can get out of reach of his skin. She can lean away, limp and heavy in his arms, and build a smooth marble barrier around her mind, never let him in, never let him in, never-
“Sarah, I was-”
Smooth marble around her mind, body still as stone, when you hold yourself still as stone they can’t touch you, not really, they can do whatever they want but inside you stay frozen and still and empty and far away and they can never get at you, at your heart-
“It’s only that-that I failed to protect you.”
He’s silent, expectant. She’s stone, stone, stone, he’s water seeking out fractures but she won’t let him in to crack her apart, she won’t listen-
“And I wouldn’t blame you for rethinking matters.”
She won’t care. She won’t.
“I’m sorry.”
NO. No no no. He is not getting out of this so easily. He called her a liar. He thought she might betray him, after she promised. She is not going to care.
“It’s just-I have grown used to this cell, this-this world. It is a world all by itself, and it has rules, and-and you do not follow them. You are so often too good to be true. You engage in acts of-of reckless goodness. When you pushed me out of the way of that acid-“
That was just instinct. Her hand slaps up and the words pop out to correct him before she can stop them.
She can almost hear the raised eyebrow. So the fact that you’re instinctually good-
It’s not like that! Her fists clench. It’s a trap to keep talking, she knows that, but that words spill out. I was part of a team. We had to act to protect each other without hesitating. I was just-used to that.
“If you insist,” the Doctor says. He closes his hand on hers before she can pull it back. “Of course, you can hardly claim instinct as an alibi for nursing me back to health.” His thumb strokes over her knuckles. “You could have cut my throat, you know. I couldn’t have stopped you.”
It occurred to me.
“But you didn’t. The monstrous dragon was revealed as a helpless, pathetic old man, and you didn’t seek revenge. I was cold, and-”
I didn’t do it for you. She twists angrily in his arms. I did it because if you died, my head was going to be next on the chopping block. I thought about letting you die. Or hurting you. I weighed the options. I made a choice. It has nothing to do with ‘good.’
“Very well, have it both ways,” the Doctor says. How does he manage to sound smug and humble at the same time? “It was a poor excuse for my behavior anyhow.”
SJ clenches her jaw and doesn’t respond.
Slowly, so slowly, like the shifting of thawing ice, the Doctor runs his hand up her arm, and then loosens his grip.
He pulls his legs back from around hers until his knees only nudge against the backs of hers, a cotton whisper of movement.
His hand touches hers, rests there lightly, and she knows his hesitation is his asking for forgiveness.
She lets out a long breath.
Our next project should be the communications array, she says instead. We can’t focus too much on weapons; they’ll get suspicious.
Any particular malfunction you had in mind? he asks.
‘Upgraded’ security measures the resistance already knows how to bypass should do the trick.
“Very well.” He is silent for a few moments. Before we proceed, however, I think we should ask ourselves why the Section Leader did this to you in the first place.
Didn’t we just go through this? She got me to agree to spy on you.
Using a brute force method I would have expected from the Brigade Leader, not her. Beth does nothing without a reason. Usually more than one.
A flush of anger rises in SJ’s chest. If you’re saying it’s my fault, that I made her-
“Of course not!” And then, gently: I know what Beth is. I have not blinded myself to that fact. Whatever my other feelings, I know what she is, and I will not abandon you for her.
You’ve answered your own question. SJ stares at the beige curtain in front of her, lit blood-red by the heat lamp. She did it to hurt you.
Me?
That was all a show she put on for you, in case you missed that. It was called “I’ve Noticed You Like This Thing and I Thought You Should Know I Can Break It Anytime I Feel Like It.”
“Jealousy. The least logical of all emotions.” The Doctor’s hand settles more firmly onto hers. “In that case, it would also be a test: what do I do in response? How much value do I place on your wellbeing?”
SJ considers, nods. You know her. How do we play it?
“It’s important to send across just the right response.” Too much emotional attachment threatens her ability to control me. Too little and you lose your effectiveness as her pawn.
He tries to block the mental image from passing through, but she manages to grab a piece. It’s her, thin and pale, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth.
There is the prohibition against touching her, but as SJ’s seen, there are ways around that. A mold in the ventilation shafts, the thermostat down a few degrees, and nature will do the work for the Section Leader, untraceable.
I’ve decided to spy on you, SJ says, and ignores that start his hand gives. You’re suspicious, and not letting me out of your sight. You tear up anything I write that doesn’t look like lab notes. Cunningly, however, I manage to conceal several pages of completely legitimate observations on your mental state and suspected escape plans, which I pass to Beth the next time she comes down here to make veiled threats.
Neatly balanced, the Doctor says. But how will my ‘suspicion’ square with the several hours of nurse-maiding on videotape?
Obviously once it was clear I was out of the woods, you raped me so I would know exactly who I belonged to.
She has to swallow after she says that. It’s too soon, still. It’s too close.
Her heart is beating very, very fast. The heart of a sparrow.
“Ah,” he says. He sounds as though he has been kicked in the solar plexus. “Obviously.”
It’s what she expects to happen, SJ argues. Better than that, it’s what she wants to happen. She wouldn’t call it rape-she call it ‘discipline’ or something-but she wants it to happen. Because-then you’ll be more like her. And if we give her what she wants…she won’t look too closely.
He sucks in a breath through his teeth and SJ feels her fingernails bite into her palms as her fists clench. Please let him not argue, please let him not pry, she can’t look directly at the thing in the back of her head right now, The Room, she can’t she can’t she can’t-
“You’re right,” he says at last. “It’s the sort of violent puerile reaction she can understand. Her whole social order is based on it.”
And if I’m to stay distant and skittish from now on, you should probably repeat the performance.
She feels a tremor run down his body. If we must.
SJ traces a spiral on his palm. If I’m up for…visiting, I’ll draw this in the notes, alright?
Of course. You’re certain this charade won’t-you’re certain you’ll be all right?
I’ll make you tell me lots of stories. She flashes suddenly to the Section Leader’s face staring down at her, and flinches. Nothing about birds, though.
What?
The Section Leader-she told me a story. About her childhood, I think, but also us… I think. SJ bites her lip, trying to pull the specifics out of the morass of yesterday’s memory. I was a sparrow. You were a bird of prey.
Ah. Yes, she’s told me a variation of that one as well.
And there it is. Another contract settled between them. Now to see if they can go twenty-four hours without either of them renegotiating.
SJ leans back into the Doctor a little, lets herself just listen to the sound of their breathing, the slight rustle of the blanket and sheets as they breathe.
Both alive, after all. Both alive, and trying to work together. And warm.
His thumb strokes over her wrist. Your temperature’s almost back to normal. I should be able to let you alone in just a minute.
You don’t have to. It comes out before she even knows it’s there. She forges ahead. I mean, not if you’re going to get a headache. But if you could stay a little less than that-you could.
He draws up, and she can feel him studying her even as she stares resolutely away. “Your pulse is even,” he says after awhile. “It’s spiked when you’ve gotten angry or upset, but I’m still touching you now and it’s even. Your muscle tone is relaxed, not tense or dead weight. You distrust proximity because of recent experience, but on a biological level-humans are pack animals, aren’t they?”
His voice is smugly pedantic, verging on condescending, and she twists as if to get away. Not as hard as she could, just enough to tell him to shut up.
I’ve bitten you before and I’ll bite you again, she says.
“It’s only biology,” he says softly. The smugness gone. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting contact.”
Her cheeks are burning. I’ve changed my mind. You can leave straightaway.
He sighs, and shifts away from her, sitting up. “All right.”
Her hand leaps up to grab his. His hand is large in her hand, and callused, and cooling rapidly. She still can’t turn to look at him.
She said-Beth said you’d devour me.
It is not forgiveness. It is not an apology. It is almost an explanation, but it is not quite that either.
It is the only thing she can give him.
He leans back down for a moment; for a second she thinks he is going to kiss her hair. “She thought you were a sparrow,” he whispers. “She makes mistakes.” And then he is pulling away, rising. “Come along when you’re ready, Sparrowhawk.”
xxxxx
She spends a few minutes steeling herself for her role, reminding herself of how to act and reminding herself that it won’t be real. She’s not certain which will be harder.
At first she thinks the clanking of boots is just another patrol, but it stops too soon, too suddenly, and there is the Doctor’s voice and the guard’s replies too soft for her to hear and she panics, what if the Section Leader’s already suspicious and they’ve come for the Doctor, what if they’re taking him away to be punished-
Irrational panic propels her out of bed, almost tripping on the curtain, just in time to see the Doctor slip two sheets of paper between the iron bars, the guard taking them before he stalks away.
The Doctor turns to glare at her, and that’s her cue-she backs up a step.
And it’s not entirely on purpose, it’s not entirely performance, but she has to remind herself to keep it that way.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he snaps. “If you’re quite done licking your wounds, the security system testing has fallen abominably behind.”
SJ beats a quick retreat to the counter with the alarm systems they’d begun testing a week ago, snagging her notebook on the way. The Doctor follows, setting up shop next to her, muttering under his breath as he tears apart their half-completed prototype. If they’re to sabotage this right, they’ll have to start all over.
Below the counter, her right hand taps his side, Morse code:
What was that all about?
He lets his left hand drop, she takes it.
I’m sending Beth a message.
I saw you hand over two.
Ah, well, if I only sent the message to Beth, she might decide not to open it for a few weeks, just to let me squirm. And then she wouldn’t know what I was doing. You see, any communication I send to Section Leader Shaw is intercepted by Brigade Leader Lethbridge-Stewart, just as any message I might send to the Brigade Leader is read by Section Leader. Isn’t love grand?
SJ frowns; he’s dancing around the heart of the matter. What did these messages say?
The same thing in different ways. I let the Brigade Leader know that a certain person who has recently fallen from favor in the eyes of the the State has not entirely fallen from the favor of Elizabeth Shaw, and might indeed be in higher favor with her than he. And I let Beth know that she talks in her sleep, and that interfering with you has very swift consequences.
Her heart is pounding. What do you mean?
She hurt someone that I value. I have just done the same.
His face has gone still and cold and very far away from her.
SJ cannot let him stay there.
She tugs his hand to bring him back. Come along, Doctor. We’ve work to do.
Characters: alt!Sarah Jane, alt!Three, Section Leader Shaw, Brigade Leader Lethbridge-Stewart, references alt!Jo
Summary: Miles below the earth, in the most secret and heavily guarded of all their prisons, they keep a man who builds them weapons that are decades and sometimes centuries ahead of their time. Reports come back of the things they bring him: books, chemicals, lab equipment. Young girls.
Notes: An AU for the Inferno-verse, which I guess makes it an AU of an AU. Basically, the Doctor we know never popped in from our universe, but their version of the Doctor has been their prisoner for as long as he has been in exile. Oh, and the world never burned up, obviously.
Warnings: Descriptions of torture (including allusions to sexual assault). A friendship with occasional Stockholm Syndrome overtones. Stockholm Syndrome.
Part One
Part Two
Part Three
Part Four
Part Five
Part Six
Part Seven
Light. Black. Light.
Flickering over her eyelids, down down down, it’s all happening again, bumping against-
Darkness. Light. Darkness.
Light.
Darkness…
Slap! And the Doctor hand connects, stinging hard, with her cheek, sparks going off in her head-
“I forbid you to go to sleep. Do you hear me? Hold on, hold on, just a little longer-”
Her head falls back down against his shoulder. The sting in her skin already fading beneath the (sting at the back of her throat) jolting wheels in her mind, the crushing pressure on her back (the Doctor is carrying her-where are his handcuffs-where are her-
She has to hold on or she will fall, fly out of his arms, hurtling, they are hurtling, spiral down down down darkness…
“No!”
And his hand yanks hard in her hair, a red flash of piercing pain, and she remembers his hands-he burst through the door with the handcuffs still hanging from one wrist and the metal banged into her temple as he grabbed her hair to pull her up (Anderson grabs her hair in The Room and pulls her down) from the floor and he shoved the fingers of his other hand into her mouth and down her throat, shouting blaring-white words that flared and faded into the walls, about flawed hypotheses and pushing things too far, and the tea came up, fire-burning, and the food came up over his finger and onto the carpet and-
With a basal metabolic rate from the Cunningham formula, she still has-
The voices, and the memories, and no lines in between, no borders, she is falling into the Doctor, his shoulder and his mind, all the edges of things are melting…
She is cold and the Doctor is warm and that’s (bad) impossible (if he feels warm think how cold you must be) and all the edges are melting until there is nothing left, that’s what the Section Leader said, nothing left (‘it took a lot to soften you up’ and a pleasant soft buzz inside her head watching the poison flower quiver beneath the butterfly and whispering silently ‘drink drink drink’)
Darkness…
Slap!
Light.
“You-“
Darkness.
Slap!
“Are-”
Slap!
Light.
“Not-”
Darkness-
Slap!
“Allowed-“
CRASH! And the cell door slams open with the sound of the world breaking, metal against metal (against bone, the sounds of hammer against bone, saws against-she screams and it echoes, rattles the metal instruments in their tray) and time skips like a rock over water and-
Bed, with the pillows and blanket rising up around her like soft mountains, and everything is red, bathed in scarlet from the shining dragon eye that hangs over her and the Doctor is crawling under the covers and pulling her against his chest and stroking her skin where he hit her and rubbing her arms down to her fingers restore circulation get the blood flowing and it makes ripples in the fabric of time, and he is saying “Now you can” sleep “now, now, it’s all right” I’m so sorry “I can help you” do you want me to “help you” sleep “I can” help you “make you” warm inside your head if I just reach in, just reach in to help you-
(“Would you like me to save you?” whispers Beth Shaw in the bed, stroking her hair)
“Ssh, shh, I won’t-” and his hands are on her back now, over the fabric of her shirt, her head pressed into the fabric of his shirt, no skin touching, so why can she still hear everything, why can she still hear the whole universe-
“Shh, shh. Still now. I won’t. Sssh.”
Shivering, shaking, her whole body shaking apart, teeth chattering like they’re going to leap out of her skull, her fingers twitching helpless unable to let go of him when he is so warm-when she can melt into him because he’s so warm-
“It’s all right. It’s all right. The shivering means you’re getting back to normal temperature. You’ll be all right.”
And the dragons crawl out of the cracks of the universe where he broke it when he slammed open the door and she sees them reaching for him, claws and fangs snaking sideways through the gaps in time, crawling up out of the well, reaching for him to rip him to shreds and take him away, and she clutches him to her, you can’t have him he’s mine-
“Sssh. Sssh. I’m right here. I’m all right. I’m right here.”
She wants to tell him-him, something, she wants to tell-oh god, she’s so cold, she’s ice and he’s warm-her eyelids heavy, all her limbs heavy, but he’ll hurt her if she lets herself keep falling, he did, he is, he will, he promised not to but…
His hands rubbing her hands, his thumb pressing deep as it sweeps wrist to knuckles, wrist to knuckles.
“Sssh. You can go to sleep now. I won’t force you. But you can.”
Darkness. Light. She wants so badly to be warm. The only, only, only thing she wants. Darkness…
“Sssh. Sssh, Sarah Jane.”
xxxxx
It is that night after the Manchester disaster where they nearly all died, and Dottie and Audrey are asleep on the mattress before the crackling fireplace, Fitzoliver’s small frame curled in his sleeping bag as close to the heat of the flames as he can get, and they are all alive where she can see them, and she and Andy and Sully are piled in a heap on the couch, careful of Andy’s leg, toasty-warm and lazy and cozy as they hold each other, SJ’s lips holding the frost-chill of the air for just a second before she kisses Andy and they are warm, she kisses Sully and they are warm again, she shifts in the slowly swelling tide of blankets to let them kiss and she is warm deep in her chest and down to her toes, her best friends, her very best friends…
The Doctor is sitting in his green armchair, next to the couch. He is holding someone in his lap.
“It was just kissing,” she says. “It was just a bit of comfort. It wasn’t like she said it was, in The Room.”
“It’s only biology,” he says. “You needn’t be ashamed.”
“Is this a dream?”
He looks away from her, into the fire. “I helped her sleep, and I gave her sweet dreams.” His hand comes up to cup the head of the girl in his lap, fine golden hair spilling over his fingers. “And then I helped her sleep a little longer. And a little longer.”
xxxxx
Reality is whole again.
She feels this even before she opens her eyes, and when she opens her eyes the bed and the blankets are a solid warm cocoon woven around her, and she does not feel herself sinking into the Doctor where she is pressed against his chest, or where his arms wrap like iron around her back, or where his legs have pinned hers together. She can feel him breathing, and hear it, but the only voice in her head is her own. There are no sparking lights, melting walls, or dragons coming to take him away.
She is pressed so close to him that her eyelashes brush against the weave of his shirt, and her breath bounces back to her, hot and dizzying in the confined space.
SJ tries to shift, and the Doctor’s arms tighten around her.
She tries again, and it’s not an illusion, the Doctor is holding her there on purpose. SJ draws in as deep a lungful of air as she can, counts to ten. Lets the air out slowly, willing her heart to a steady rhythm. Shifts again, just enough to bring the top of her head to his neck.
You’re crushing me, she says. I just need a bit of air.
He flips her around, his arms snapping back firm and rigid around her waist.
The Doctor doesn’t seem in the mood for conversation, so SJ takes a moment to savor the touch of cool air on her face, and her ability to draw it deep into her lungs, and the way the whole world is being solid and holding still. A few inches from her face lies a spoon stained brown with tannin, and she flashes to a memory: her back against the Doctor’s chest as he leans against the headboard, one hand tipping her head back to make her swallow as the other guided the spoon back her lips, the burning hot liquid on her tongue, the bitter taste of weak tea, the dragon’s eye glaring down red-
The spoon and the sheets and her hands still have an odd reddish cast.
A little twist of her head-the Doctor’s legs lock even tighter-and she sees the jerry-rigged heat lamp hanging above them. Another memory leaps up like a splash of water out of a stream: the plug sliding in to the socket and the bulb blazing with light and then a loud pop! As sparks flew and everything outside the bed-curtain plunged into blackness…
And then the Doctor crawling back into bed with her, asking her if…
You wanted to go inside my head. To keep me warm. Her heart is speeding up again.
“I didn’t, though,” he says. His voice is shocking in the still air. “I took your attempt to claw my eyes out as a ‘no.’”
SJ doesn’t remember that, only him asking and then a burst of light, like a bursting of herself, bursting outward like breaking glass, breaking-
Did I hurt you?
“Just the hand. It’ll heal.”
She glances downward; jagged teeth-marks ring his fingers. He’d forced those fingers down her throat and she’d gagged, biting down hard-
Sorry.
“It’s nothing.”
He’s being too brisk, too dismissive, even while his unyielding arms and legs are pinning her in place as though he’s some sort of demented starfish.
The image makes her smile for a second, and keep her heart steady. SJ tries again. You feel like you’re burning up.
“I can control my body temperature. It’s how I kept you halfway stable on the way down here.”
That and slapping me silly. Silence. Maybe that’s pushing him too far. Is it safe? For you?
“More than seven hours means a headache. Vascular difficulties with the cranial arteries.” His arms press around her like a vise, pressure straight through muscle to bone. He is not letting go anytime soon. “You still have a few degrees to go until your temperature is normal.”
On cue, a shiver vibrates up SJ’s spine and down her arms. The Doctor flips her back towards him, her face mashed back into the fabric of his shirt with no ceremony or warning.
SJ grits her teeth and nudges her head up a hair harder than necessary, making the necessary skin contact to talk and, incidentally, striking a sharp blow against his chin with her skull. You needn’t be such a boor about it. Not as if I’ve anywhere to run, is it?
The Doctor responds directly neither to the assault nor to her words. Instead he shifts, the arm under her diving under the pillow. She hears the crinkle of foil, and then his other hand comes around with her piece of chocolate, melting where it touches his fingers. He brings it towards her mouth.
SJ presses her lips shut, turns her face into the mattress.
“You’ve lost a day’s worth of rations. Humans are furnaces. You need fuel.”
But I don’t need someone to shovel the coal in, she retorts. I can feed myself now, thank you.
The sound of grinding teeth, a huff, and then he raises his right arm, freeing her left. Still holding her so firmly that she cannot look up to see his face.
Not an ideal treaty, but a step. She takes the chocolate with her three fingers; her hands are still shaking a little but after all this time her grip is less awkward than it could be. She eats slowly, wary of the low seething of still-settling acid in her stomach, and also trying to buy time as she considers the Doctor’s behavior.
What’s gotten into him?
She licks the chocolate from her fingers, wipes them on his sleeve. Even that doesn’t get a twitch away from him.
She lets her touch fall a few inches to his skin.
What she dosed me with-same as you?
“Yes.” He’s gruff, impatient; for a moment she thinks that’s all she’s going to get, and then he adds, grudgingly: “It seemed to metabolize much more quickly in you than she suspected. She must not have done other trials on humans.” His voice goes dry. “I do keep telling her I’m not an adequate test subject.”
She presses her forehead against his chest, tries to make that say what she can’t.
He doesn’t say anything either. Damn.
Time for another tack.
The folder--
A long intake of breath. “I don’t have it.”
It’s like a punch to her chest, shards of collarbone and rib fracturing inward to pierce her heart. She lied about that too.
“I was about to open it,” he said. “And then you dropped the cup.”
And she can’t cry, because she’s been scoured and emptied and all that’s left of her is this shell, this hollow thing that the Doctor is holding onto so tightly she may shatter.
“I dropped it,” she hears him say, above her. “I did not even think to look down.” And his arms are squeezing her tight again, forcing her arms back against her sides, his hands shaking where they grip at her back. Beth has all the cards. “You are not leaving this room ever again.”
No, not hollow, not entirely.
There is still fear.
His right arm is pressed against her left; there is still contact. She is not going to panic. She is bound but not gagged. Deep breaths.
The Doctor is panicking right now. She cannot panic too.
Bad things happen when they both panic.
She takes in a deep breath, and then another. Wills her heart to a steady, even beat. Wills her eyes to dry. Wills-in the privacy of her own mind, without sending the thought-the Doctor to listen, to feel, to calm down.
His hands stop shaking-after a seconds? A few minutes? Longer?-and his breathing becomes less ragged, but he shows no inclination of letting go.
Okay. Fine. She can do this. She can.
Sarah Jane sends a thought: If you’re planning on keeping me here forever, I hope you remember that we mere humans do occasionally need to use the loo.
No response.
Doctor?
Doctor, that was your cue to tell me you’re not planning to keep me here forever.
A grunt. “Considering it.”
He’s talking. That’s good. Focus on the fact that he’s talking, not what he’s saying. Focus.
It’s your charming moods like these that make the Section Leader’s offer halfway tempting.
She waits, but there’s no response.
Not the least bit curious about that?
Silence. Damn. Okay, fine. She takes a deep breath. Time to bring out the big guns:
She wants me to spy on you, you know.
No comment.
He doesn’t even twitch.
It’s ridiculous, of course.
“You must do what you think is right.”
SJ is flabbergasted.
What-you think I’m going to-
“You forget, I could see your face the entire time.” His voice is bitter cold. “I’m fairly certain that was a gesture of assent at the end.”
SJ feels as though the bed is falling out from under her. His words ring hollow and distant in her ears. This is worse than she thought, this is so much worse- She drugged me! The walls were melting and I was hearing voices! I wasn’t exactly in a fit state to make a contract!
“You’ve made rather a point of keeping your word in the past.”
You’re twisting it all- She forces herself to take a breath. Promises with you matter.
“Oh, really?”
YES. She is pushing sincerity at him, trying to hold her mind open: see, see, see, there is nothing that I am hiding, see! Promises mean things to you. Even if you broke one, it would mean something.
“Don’t flatter me. You’re not terribly good at it.”
SJ huffs through gritted teeth. Purely on the merits then. Who would I be more likely to side with: the person who slapped me around a bit to keep me from passing out, or the person who chose what size hammer to have my fingers smashed with?
His hand slips to hers, just for a second. He pulls it back.
She can still feel those missing fingers, sometimes, the pain, as if she could look down and see them hanging there, useless strips of meat and bone. Other times they feel clenched tight, as though they are trying to force the rest of her hand into an angry fist.
SJ uses her anger to shove herself up onto her elbow, meet his eyes.
Oh, have I mentioned that she had me violated with a broom handle when her lackeys couldn’t perform? You think I’d work with her against you? I wouldn’t work with her on a flower arrangement!
He doesn’t meet her eyes. His voice is hoarse. “She’s the one with more power. She could make things easier for you.”
Oh, for- Sarah flops down, facing away from him. Do you have to be so pig-headed?! Tears are stinging her eyes, fighting to push through. The Section Leader poisoned me and you’re making it into a popularity contest. I don’t believe you.
Her throat seizes up on a long choked gasp, all the words she can’t speak, and the tears come again. He didn’t used to be able to make her cry. She gave him that power, stupid, stupid, stupid. She let his books and his sharing and his helplessness that one night convince her that he was different. Oh, if she could swallow this lump in her throat, this heavy black weight in her stomach, sinking. Ashes in her mouth. If she could just stop caring again.
“Sarah-”
But she pulls away from him. He’s not letting go, but she can get out of reach of his skin. She can lean away, limp and heavy in his arms, and build a smooth marble barrier around her mind, never let him in, never let him in, never-
“Sarah, I was-”
Smooth marble around her mind, body still as stone, when you hold yourself still as stone they can’t touch you, not really, they can do whatever they want but inside you stay frozen and still and empty and far away and they can never get at you, at your heart-
“It’s only that-that I failed to protect you.”
He’s silent, expectant. She’s stone, stone, stone, he’s water seeking out fractures but she won’t let him in to crack her apart, she won’t listen-
“And I wouldn’t blame you for rethinking matters.”
She won’t care. She won’t.
“I’m sorry.”
NO. No no no. He is not getting out of this so easily. He called her a liar. He thought she might betray him, after she promised. She is not going to care.
“It’s just-I have grown used to this cell, this-this world. It is a world all by itself, and it has rules, and-and you do not follow them. You are so often too good to be true. You engage in acts of-of reckless goodness. When you pushed me out of the way of that acid-“
That was just instinct. Her hand slaps up and the words pop out to correct him before she can stop them.
She can almost hear the raised eyebrow. So the fact that you’re instinctually good-
It’s not like that! Her fists clench. It’s a trap to keep talking, she knows that, but that words spill out. I was part of a team. We had to act to protect each other without hesitating. I was just-used to that.
“If you insist,” the Doctor says. He closes his hand on hers before she can pull it back. “Of course, you can hardly claim instinct as an alibi for nursing me back to health.” His thumb strokes over her knuckles. “You could have cut my throat, you know. I couldn’t have stopped you.”
It occurred to me.
“But you didn’t. The monstrous dragon was revealed as a helpless, pathetic old man, and you didn’t seek revenge. I was cold, and-”
I didn’t do it for you. She twists angrily in his arms. I did it because if you died, my head was going to be next on the chopping block. I thought about letting you die. Or hurting you. I weighed the options. I made a choice. It has nothing to do with ‘good.’
“Very well, have it both ways,” the Doctor says. How does he manage to sound smug and humble at the same time? “It was a poor excuse for my behavior anyhow.”
SJ clenches her jaw and doesn’t respond.
Slowly, so slowly, like the shifting of thawing ice, the Doctor runs his hand up her arm, and then loosens his grip.
He pulls his legs back from around hers until his knees only nudge against the backs of hers, a cotton whisper of movement.
His hand touches hers, rests there lightly, and she knows his hesitation is his asking for forgiveness.
She lets out a long breath.
Our next project should be the communications array, she says instead. We can’t focus too much on weapons; they’ll get suspicious.
Any particular malfunction you had in mind? he asks.
‘Upgraded’ security measures the resistance already knows how to bypass should do the trick.
“Very well.” He is silent for a few moments. Before we proceed, however, I think we should ask ourselves why the Section Leader did this to you in the first place.
Didn’t we just go through this? She got me to agree to spy on you.
Using a brute force method I would have expected from the Brigade Leader, not her. Beth does nothing without a reason. Usually more than one.
A flush of anger rises in SJ’s chest. If you’re saying it’s my fault, that I made her-
“Of course not!” And then, gently: I know what Beth is. I have not blinded myself to that fact. Whatever my other feelings, I know what she is, and I will not abandon you for her.
You’ve answered your own question. SJ stares at the beige curtain in front of her, lit blood-red by the heat lamp. She did it to hurt you.
Me?
That was all a show she put on for you, in case you missed that. It was called “I’ve Noticed You Like This Thing and I Thought You Should Know I Can Break It Anytime I Feel Like It.”
“Jealousy. The least logical of all emotions.” The Doctor’s hand settles more firmly onto hers. “In that case, it would also be a test: what do I do in response? How much value do I place on your wellbeing?”
SJ considers, nods. You know her. How do we play it?
“It’s important to send across just the right response.” Too much emotional attachment threatens her ability to control me. Too little and you lose your effectiveness as her pawn.
He tries to block the mental image from passing through, but she manages to grab a piece. It’s her, thin and pale, a trickle of blood at the corner of her mouth.
There is the prohibition against touching her, but as SJ’s seen, there are ways around that. A mold in the ventilation shafts, the thermostat down a few degrees, and nature will do the work for the Section Leader, untraceable.
I’ve decided to spy on you, SJ says, and ignores that start his hand gives. You’re suspicious, and not letting me out of your sight. You tear up anything I write that doesn’t look like lab notes. Cunningly, however, I manage to conceal several pages of completely legitimate observations on your mental state and suspected escape plans, which I pass to Beth the next time she comes down here to make veiled threats.
Neatly balanced, the Doctor says. But how will my ‘suspicion’ square with the several hours of nurse-maiding on videotape?
Obviously once it was clear I was out of the woods, you raped me so I would know exactly who I belonged to.
She has to swallow after she says that. It’s too soon, still. It’s too close.
Her heart is beating very, very fast. The heart of a sparrow.
“Ah,” he says. He sounds as though he has been kicked in the solar plexus. “Obviously.”
It’s what she expects to happen, SJ argues. Better than that, it’s what she wants to happen. She wouldn’t call it rape-she call it ‘discipline’ or something-but she wants it to happen. Because-then you’ll be more like her. And if we give her what she wants…she won’t look too closely.
He sucks in a breath through his teeth and SJ feels her fingernails bite into her palms as her fists clench. Please let him not argue, please let him not pry, she can’t look directly at the thing in the back of her head right now, The Room, she can’t she can’t she can’t-
“You’re right,” he says at last. “It’s the sort of violent puerile reaction she can understand. Her whole social order is based on it.”
And if I’m to stay distant and skittish from now on, you should probably repeat the performance.
She feels a tremor run down his body. If we must.
SJ traces a spiral on his palm. If I’m up for…visiting, I’ll draw this in the notes, alright?
Of course. You’re certain this charade won’t-you’re certain you’ll be all right?
I’ll make you tell me lots of stories. She flashes suddenly to the Section Leader’s face staring down at her, and flinches. Nothing about birds, though.
What?
The Section Leader-she told me a story. About her childhood, I think, but also us… I think. SJ bites her lip, trying to pull the specifics out of the morass of yesterday’s memory. I was a sparrow. You were a bird of prey.
Ah. Yes, she’s told me a variation of that one as well.
And there it is. Another contract settled between them. Now to see if they can go twenty-four hours without either of them renegotiating.
SJ leans back into the Doctor a little, lets herself just listen to the sound of their breathing, the slight rustle of the blanket and sheets as they breathe.
Both alive, after all. Both alive, and trying to work together. And warm.
His thumb strokes over her wrist. Your temperature’s almost back to normal. I should be able to let you alone in just a minute.
You don’t have to. It comes out before she even knows it’s there. She forges ahead. I mean, not if you’re going to get a headache. But if you could stay a little less than that-you could.
He draws up, and she can feel him studying her even as she stares resolutely away. “Your pulse is even,” he says after awhile. “It’s spiked when you’ve gotten angry or upset, but I’m still touching you now and it’s even. Your muscle tone is relaxed, not tense or dead weight. You distrust proximity because of recent experience, but on a biological level-humans are pack animals, aren’t they?”
His voice is smugly pedantic, verging on condescending, and she twists as if to get away. Not as hard as she could, just enough to tell him to shut up.
I’ve bitten you before and I’ll bite you again, she says.
“It’s only biology,” he says softly. The smugness gone. “There’s nothing wrong with wanting contact.”
Her cheeks are burning. I’ve changed my mind. You can leave straightaway.
He sighs, and shifts away from her, sitting up. “All right.”
Her hand leaps up to grab his. His hand is large in her hand, and callused, and cooling rapidly. She still can’t turn to look at him.
She said-Beth said you’d devour me.
It is not forgiveness. It is not an apology. It is almost an explanation, but it is not quite that either.
It is the only thing she can give him.
He leans back down for a moment; for a second she thinks he is going to kiss her hair. “She thought you were a sparrow,” he whispers. “She makes mistakes.” And then he is pulling away, rising. “Come along when you’re ready, Sparrowhawk.”
xxxxx
She spends a few minutes steeling herself for her role, reminding herself of how to act and reminding herself that it won’t be real. She’s not certain which will be harder.
At first she thinks the clanking of boots is just another patrol, but it stops too soon, too suddenly, and there is the Doctor’s voice and the guard’s replies too soft for her to hear and she panics, what if the Section Leader’s already suspicious and they’ve come for the Doctor, what if they’re taking him away to be punished-
Irrational panic propels her out of bed, almost tripping on the curtain, just in time to see the Doctor slip two sheets of paper between the iron bars, the guard taking them before he stalks away.
The Doctor turns to glare at her, and that’s her cue-she backs up a step.
And it’s not entirely on purpose, it’s not entirely performance, but she has to remind herself to keep it that way.
“Well, what are you waiting for?” he snaps. “If you’re quite done licking your wounds, the security system testing has fallen abominably behind.”
SJ beats a quick retreat to the counter with the alarm systems they’d begun testing a week ago, snagging her notebook on the way. The Doctor follows, setting up shop next to her, muttering under his breath as he tears apart their half-completed prototype. If they’re to sabotage this right, they’ll have to start all over.
Below the counter, her right hand taps his side, Morse code:
What was that all about?
He lets his left hand drop, she takes it.
I’m sending Beth a message.
I saw you hand over two.
Ah, well, if I only sent the message to Beth, she might decide not to open it for a few weeks, just to let me squirm. And then she wouldn’t know what I was doing. You see, any communication I send to Section Leader Shaw is intercepted by Brigade Leader Lethbridge-Stewart, just as any message I might send to the Brigade Leader is read by Section Leader. Isn’t love grand?
SJ frowns; he’s dancing around the heart of the matter. What did these messages say?
The same thing in different ways. I let the Brigade Leader know that a certain person who has recently fallen from favor in the eyes of the the State has not entirely fallen from the favor of Elizabeth Shaw, and might indeed be in higher favor with her than he. And I let Beth know that she talks in her sleep, and that interfering with you has very swift consequences.
Her heart is pounding. What do you mean?
She hurt someone that I value. I have just done the same.
His face has gone still and cold and very far away from her.
SJ cannot let him stay there.
She tugs his hand to bring him back. Come along, Doctor. We’ve work to do.