mtemplar_fic: (Rose - oh f@%&)
[personal profile] mtemplar_fic
Title: None just yet. I'm open to suggestions. My working title for this was "Wrong", just sayin'.
Author: [ profile] mtemplar
Rating: Adult
Characters: The Doctor (Tenth) and a few surprise guests.
Disclaimer: I do not own 'Doctor Who' and am making no profit from this fanfiction.
Genre: Angst, Graphic Violence, and TENTACLES!
Spoilers: 'Rose', if for whatever reason you haven't seen it by now, and also 'Autonomy'.
Betas: None! Hopefully it isn't too awful.

Summary: There's something he's forgotten....

Author's Notes: This is a little birthday fic that owes its existence to the birthday girl [ profile] elrina753 and this picture of poor Three:



Wrong, Part the First

The Doctor stepped out of the TARDIS, sniffing the air with disgust. The foul scent of burning decay mixed with scorched plastic lingered cloyingly in his nose even after he turned his face to the fresh breeze. Flames licked over twisted wreckage and what appeared to be the oozing green remains of the Nestene Consciousness - unfortunately, the Doctor now knew this was most likely not the case.

After a recent encounter with the Nestenes in Hyperville, the Doctor had discovered to his horror that the ancient alien race was quite capable of sending out life pods if threatened, pods that would allow for slow recuperation in the face of life-threatening injury. It had to be around somewhere....

The Nestene before him looked quite dead. Nothing moved in the stillness, save for the licking flames. It meant nothing. He had to make absolutely sure, for the sake of the human race, that nothing of its psychic life force remained. The Earth was far too perfect a target, with its abundant plastics, CFCs and oils - making it an irresistable base for the Nestene. If this one had been able to sporulate a portion of itself in a pod, it could still send a signal to the Nestene Cluster, once it was in transmission range, and receive a massive boost of energy - enough to facilitate repairs to its warp-shunt drive and begin its invasion anew.

I can do this, he thought to himself, trying not to remember how Rose had swung from just there, only mere moments ago to save his life. If he concentrated hard enough, he could sense her close proximity - along with another TARDIS and another him. He suddenly wanted nothing more than to run as fast as he could to the surface, grab her hand again and steal her away from his other self. He shook his head violently. No matter how much it hurt, he couldn't change his own past. I have to do this, he thought, trying to focus on the task at hand. The authorities would no doubt be here soon, and he had to hurry. He had no time to waste being all maudlin about the past. It has to be done.

He shrugged his shoulders, fingered the vial of anti-plastic cocktail in his pocket and began to slowly walk down the steps into the foul smelling lair. The brick flooring was criss-crossed with trails of green ichor, as if something had slithered across it, back and forth.

The Doctor's eyes began to adjust to the flickering light, and he scanned the smoking wreckage for signs of life. He stepped in a puddle of slimy stuff and quickly hopped back, glad that he'd avoided the worst of it, for the sake of his cream-colored trainers. He wasn't sure what the substance was, but it reeked, and he and tongue were most definitely not getting anywhere near it.

He continued on past an Auton, its plastic body fortunately lifeless. Several piles of unmoving humanoid forms loomed in the distance, some of them beginning to dissolve into gelatinous goo that oozed along the floor. He avoided stepping in it as much as he could.

The Doctor hadn't gone far when he spotted it - the faintest of soft green light near where the creature's vat had stood. He slipped his glasses on and moved toward it.

The containment unit of the pod was small, with the green, gently pulsing physical manifestation of the sporulated Consciousness slumbering inside. He couldn't see it clearly through the frosted surface, but he could see hints of movement within - and every so often, a thrashing tentacle pressed briefly against the inner surface before being pulled away again.

"I'm sorry," he murmured, pulling the vial from his pocket. "I really am."

Suddenly, almost as if sensing his intent, the gentle green glow within the pod flared to an incandescent, harsh white light, and the Consciousness screamed inside his head. The pod shattered in an explosion of greenish light and smoke, breaking into a shower of tiny fragments that flew all around him. The Doctor jerked back in alarm, slipping in a small puddle of slime as he backpedaled, trying to get away. He went down hard, his glasses flying from his face. The vial of anti-plastic was knocked from his hand and was promptly swallowed up by the darkness. Blast!

With some effort, he got to his feet again, trying to triangulate in his head just where the vial had rolled. A noise that sounded like a wet rag sliding across the floor sounded in his ears, and he was suddenly very, very glad that Rose was safely on the surface above, no doubt turning his other self's first offer to travel with him down right now. Why had he gone back a second time? That wasn't like him at all, he mused. Maybe he was just a very good judge of character. A small smile flitted over his lips - just before he heard another sick, wet slopping sound. Cursing himself for being too easily distractable, he turned slowly, squinting into the flickering gloom.

A snake-like shadow was slithering across the floor directly toward him. He stared in disgust as the rope-like tentacle approached him, green and oozing the ichor he'd seen everywhere. He reached in his pocket for the sonic, fingers slipping over his suit. They were now covered in the same green slime that coated much of the floor. This is getting ridiculous, he thought. It's just a pod, not a full-blown Nestene. Just at that point, the slender tentacle unexpectedly wound its way up his leg. Before he could react, his leg was yanked out from under him. He fell again, this time striking the back of his head on the unforgiving concrete floor.


The Doctor woke slowly, and immediately wished he hadn't. His head was pounding, and his mouth was filled with some particularly rancid taste. The Nestene, he thought hazily, before he could connect enough to remember just how he had ended up on the floor in the middle of the smoking wreckage.

Nestene.... He fought his way closer to full consciousness, ignoring the flares of agony from the back of his head. It's alive....

With that thought, his eyes flew open and he jerked forward as his memories came back in a rush. He stopped short before he'd gotten more than a few inches, and a gasp of pain escaped his lips as his joints and muscles engaged themselves against unexpected restraints. He began to thash wildly, and it was a long moment before he could get hold of himself enough to settle down, stop panicking and try a more scientific approach.

He was sprawled on his side on the slimy floor, and something was wrapped tightly around his legs and waist. One arm was also securely tethered. Nothing would give, no matter how fiercely he yanked.

Takiing in a gulp of air to steady his breathing, the Doctor tried to twist around to get a look at his restraints, but the angle was bad and it was too dark and hazy to see, even with the flickering flames. He looked up, trying to work out where he was, and who had trussed him up like a Christmas goose.

The first thing to meet his eyes was concrete, rough, dark, and barely illuminated by the glowing orange of the flames. As he craned his neck backwards, he realized the ceiling above was composed of metal grating, through which he could see glimpses of drab and filthy walls. He was still in the lair, he realized. He hadn't been moved far.

He pulled anew against his restraints, but was again brought up short. The best he could do was torque his spine uncomfortably to turn his face up to the ceiling, a vulnerable position that he didn't like at all. How long had he been out?

He tugged again, twisting awkwardly as he tried to work at his bonds. They suddenly seemed to give a little, and he pulled harder before freezing in realization.

His restraints were moving.


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July 2011

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