Fandom: Doctor Who
Characters: The Tenth Doctor/Donna, the TARDIS
Rating: PG-13
Length: 13,000 words, six chapters. Completed.
Warnings: Torture, attempted sexual assault, adult language
Disclaimer: These characters belong to the BBC, not to me.
It ignored the voice raging impotently in Its head. Silly little man, getting so worked up about one of these pitiful mortals. This one was small and fragile, hardly any different than the idiot children who had worshipped It for so long on that miserable little planet. Different species, but the same sort of pathetically limited mind.
Nothing at all like the Time Lord. Now, this was a mind and a body It could appreciate.
The creature which had taken over the Time Lord's body had once been a member of a powerful race, a species who had ruled half the galaxy. Its people had torn themselves apart in a bloody war, and in the end only one shipful of them had remained. While they searched desperately for a new home, the badly damaged ship had crashed on a tiny, out-of-the-way planet, and It had been the only survivor.
Burned and broken, in excruciating pain, It had struggled Its way to the nearest settlement, where the primitive natives had done their best to save It. But the medicine they had given It, with the best of intentions, hadn’t been compatible with its alien chemistry, and they’d destroyed its body while preserving Its life essence. Unable to die, unable to truly live, It had taken up residence amongst the primitives, who built it a temple and worshipped it as a god.
Through all those long, lonely years, It had dreamed of a new body, a body that wouldn’t burn up instantly at the first brush of Its power. Finding Its essence tethered to the planet, unable to ascend into the heavens and search elsewhere, It had tried to take possession of many of the simple people of Vena IV. But every one It possessed had died nearly instantly, so It had finally resigned itself to waiting. And waiting.
And waiting.
And at last, after all those centuries, the body It needed had sauntered into the temple this morning.
The unsuspecting Time Lord had foolishly assumed the local god to be a superstition, rather than a very real and powerful creature, and he had been entirely unprepared for the mental battle that ensued. Thus It had easily taken the body which It so richly deserved, Its rightful reward for all those centuries of waiting. After all those terrible, empty years, It had finally regained the physical existence It had so long dreamed of.
In this body, It knew It could live practically forever. And now that It was no longer damned to an endless, noncorporeal half-life, It bloody well intended to live.
An angry little man and his pet blue box weren’t going to prevent It from enjoying Itself to the utmost.
Despite the drunken whirling in Its head–which It found oddly pleasurable–It stood up. This body was tall enough that It loomed over the woman, and It revelled in the sensation of being taller, stronger, more powerful. This small, pitiful being would learn to respect It. She would bow down before It in fear and pain. She would howl in agony and terror, would cringe and beg for mercy–
But somewhat to Its surprise, she failed to cower before Its might, as the primitives who had worshipped It always had. Instead of cringing as It expected, she struck Its cheek with the open palm of her free hand, so hard that Its head snapped to the side. It staggered, and nearly fell.
She smacked It again, even harder, and this time It let go of her arm, quite involuntarily, and turned away in an instinctive effort to protect Its new face. She took a step backward, but didn’t run. Instead she crossed her arms over her chest and glared at It, her eyes blazing.
“What the hell is wrong with you?” she raged.
Run! Donna, run! Get out of here!
The little man was shouting, desperate, frantic, terrified for his companion, but of course she couldn’t hear him. Slightly amused by the man’s concern for this pitiful little female, It straightened up, rubbed Its cheek, and smiled, very coldly.
“That,” It said softly, “was a mistake.”
*****
This wasn’t the Doctor.
She realised it in a terrible instant of clarity, the moment he smiled. She couldn’t say exactly how she knew, but she knew. There was something dreadful in the dark eyes, something so clearly evil that she instantly recognised it as an entity other than the Doctor.
The Doctor most frequently wore an amiable, cheerful expression, but his eyes were, to borrow one of her Gramps' old expressions, the windows to his soul, and they could reflect so many emotions. She’d seen his eyes dark and terrible. She’d seen them sorrowful and ancient. She’d seen them frightened and anguished.
But she’d never, ever seen evil there.
He’d gone into the temple on Vena IV wearing his normal bright smile, while she went off to do some shopping. And when they’d met up again, he’d been... strange. And since then he’d only grown stranger.
Stranger, she thought, was exactly the right word. This wasn’t the Doctor. This was a stranger. And whoever or whatever this was, it must have acquired the Doctor’s body in the temple.
“Who are you?” she demanded, rubbing her wrist.
He chuckled, softly and without mirth. “I am the Doctor.”
“No. You’re not.” She glared at him. “What have you done with him?”
“Oh, he’s in here somewhere. But you won't be seeing him again.” He gave that humorless chuckle again. "You'll just have to make do with me."
The thing that wore the Doctor’s body was clearly still inebriated, because his words were still slurred. But drunk or not, he was dangerous. She was absolutely certain of that.
And not just dangerous, but hungry– hungry for food, and drink, and experiences. She remembered him gobbling down food in the galley, remembered him guzzling the whisky greedily, remembered the expression on his face as he injected himself with the hypospray. She recalled his ominous words: There’s an appetite I haven’t explored yet.
She had no intention of being his next… experience.
“Keep away from me,” she snarled.
“Or what?” He laughed again, a very unpleasant sound that bore no resemblance to the Doctor’s good-humoured laughter. “You’re trapped in the Vortex with me, little fool. Do you honestly think you can escape me?”
She swallowed, recognising the truth of what he said. She had no way of escaping him. She couldn't land the ship on her own, and everything on the TARDIS was keyed to the Doctor’s genetic signature. There was no door she could lock against him, nowhere she could hide. Wherever she went–he would find her.
He took a single step toward her, the movement filled with menace. Every instinct told her to turn and run, but she stood her ground.
There was really nothing else she could do.
*****
Run Donna run Donna run run run–
The little man was becoming truly irritating now. He was going half mad with fear and concern for his companion, the woman whom he could see clearly but was utterly unable to help. His frantic thoughts were growing ever more annoying in their repetitiveness.
It considered the situation, imagined forcing the little man to watch helplessly as his companion was forced to submit to It, and a pleasant twinge of lust and hunger racked Its new body. After the long centuries of being worshipped as a god, It had grown to like power. It enjoyed seeing humanoids grovel and weep for mercy. It enjoyed hurting them, and watching them sob in pain.
And this would be doubly enjoyable, because not only would It have the pleasure of seeing the woman cry and scream, but It would also have the delightful fun of hearing the man plead for her as well. Two helpless victims, begging for the mercy It would never bestow upon them.
It thought that this promised to be extremely entertaining.
*****
Why wouldn’t she run?
The Doctor wanted to scream in frustration as Donna just stood there, crossing her arms and wearing her don’t-mess-with-me-Alien-Boy face. She knew he wasn’t in control of his body. She’d obviously figured it out. And she had to realise that It was dangerous. So why wasn’t she running for her life?
Nowhere to run to, a more logical part of his mind answered.
Despite the panic beating at him, he recognised that as truth. She was all alone on the TARDIS, trapped in the Vortex, unable to fly the ship or to save herself. The entity that had possessed his body knew everything he did, so there was nowhere for her to hide.
It could hurt her. Rape her. Torture her. And there would be nothing he could do to stop any of it. He would simply have to watch.
The thought made him want to scream again. But he couldn’t scream, at least not out loud. He couldn’t do anything but rage helplessly.
He’d gotten her into this situation.
And there was absolutely nothing he could do to get her out of it.
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