Starman [ Life on Mars / Doctor Who Crossover ]

Chapter 6 Iron Man

now the time is here
for Iron Man to spread fear
vengeance from the grave
kills the people he once saved

---

"...too near him. Careful."

"Can you hear me, sir?"

Sam's jaw twitched against a hard surface. Hell. Must've dozed off during paperwork.

"I'm all right," he mumbled against his desk. It was good that Annie had found him before they went out to pub -- Guv might've left him for dead otherwise. He moved to sit upright--

And couldn't.

"Check the restraints," a voice said.

"I just did."

"Do it again."

Awareness slowly came to him. He inhaled and smelled disinfectant. His abdomen burst with dull pain. He squinted at a concrete ceiling, low and fluorescent. His back lay against a cold metal slab.

"Hello," said a voice.

His eyes wandered and refocused on a woman's face. Brown-eyed, freckled. Welsh lilt. Brow creased along the edge of a weary smile. "Hear me, do you?"

"I..." Sam tugged uselessly at something around his wrist. His throat went dry. "Where am I?"

"Somewhere safe. Sorry 'bout the precautions." The woman's smile waned, then grew again. "Could you tell me your name?"

The room was awfully quiet for a hospital. Sam swallowed. "My..."

"Your name," the woman repeated, with emphasis. "Please."

Sam closed his eyes. He saw images behind his lids -- locked doors and red grass. A strange hand. His mother's knife.

Drums.

"Sam," he gasped out, fists clenched against the restraints. "My name is Sam Tyler."

He felt a hand against his shoulder, heard relief in the woman's voice. "Hush -- you're all right, Sam. It's all right."

"Where am I?" Terror made Sam's voice stronger. "What the hell's going on?"

"Probably lying," said the voice behind her. Male. American.

The woman grit her teeth. "Does it look like he's lying?"

"Murdering psychopaths are pretty good actors, Gwen."

"Christ," Sam breathed, "can someone tell me--"

"You think being human makes you entitled to anything," the man said, cold and seething. "That's cute."

Sam shut his eyes and tried to control his breathing -- control, because he had so little of it left, a motherboard overloaded, metal rivets undone, a comet careening through the atmosphere, burning and fading, stripped of each layer until nothing remained but molten rock and ashes.

"Come off it," the woman hissed. Her hand smoothed down the fabric over Sam's shoulder. "God, he's shaking."

"He'd better be," said the man.