Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Twenty-Two: Compatibility

No matter how far we move through this endless maze of corridors, I can't shift my thoughts from that room.

The way he looked at her. The way he whispered in her ear.

Nothing can have possibly happened in the hour or so that we have spent here but I can't seem to convince myself of it. And I still don't understand why I should care so much.

"So," Mickey says with a nudge to my ribs, "that Doctor, eh?"

"What's that supposed to mean?"

He shrugs innocently but I can tell that he's implying something. "Well, Madame de Pompadour, Sarah Jane Smith... Cleopatra."

"Gods, he mentioned her once."

"Yeah, but he called her Cleo."

He is so focused on me that he doesn't see the figure lurking behind until it is too late. Rose and I try to run to him but we are also restrained. The grip around my neck is too tight. I desperately struggle but black spots swim across my vision and I fall limp in the droid's hold.

—

My head feels heavy when I wake. Frowning, I try to lift it and look around at the dark room but my attention is immediately drawn to the thick cuffs binding my wrists and ankles to a metal frame. The empty but taunting stare of a droid looms over me.

Beside me, Rose stirs. "What is this? What's going on? Doctor!"

"It's okay, Rose. Stay calm. It's going to be all right."

"Rose? Inara?" Straining against the cuffs, I look past the droids to where Mickey lies. His breathing picks up as panic grips him. "They're going to chop us up, just like the crew. They're going to chop us up and stick us all over their stupid spaceship! And where's the Doctor? Where's the precious Doctor now? Been gone for flipping hours, that's where he is!"

One of the droids steps towards Rose. Its voice rings out, grating and hollow, "You are compatible."

My attempts to tear myself free achieve nothing. I can't get to her. Drawing in a shaking breath, she replies, "Well, you might want to think about that — you really, really might — because us three, we didn't come here alone. Oh, no. And trust me, you wouldn't want to mess with our designated driver."

It directs its blade at her throat, prepared to kill her. More struggling only causes the cuffs to chafe my wrists, scraping them raw, but I don't stop. "Wait. Wait! You do not want to try that, you hear me? You lay a hand on any of us and you'll pay."

The droid stood by me does the same and I hurriedly recoil, pressing my head back against the frame as far as I can. The air buzzes between the blade and my skin.

"Ever heard of the Daleks?" Rose speaks up again. "Remember them? They had a name for our friend. They had myths about him and a name. They called him the—"

A voice sings in the distance, a voice I immediately know. "I could have danced all night. I could have danced all night!"

"Th-They called him the—"

"And still have begged for more!" And there he is, the Doctor, dancing into the room with his tie around his head and a pair of sunglasses hiding his eyes. In his hand is what looks like a glass of wine. He hasn't noticed us yet. "I could have spread my wings and done a thou—" Now he sees the droids, his face lighting up in recognition. "Have you met the French? My God, they know how to party!"

Exchanging weary looks with me, Rose huffs, "Well, look what the cat dragged in. The Oncoming Storm!"

Humming, he comes to a stop at the base of my frame. "Ooh, you sound just like your mother."