Title: Run For Cover
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: gen
Fandom: Doctor Who
Rating: PG-13
Table: 1
Prompt: 23, Laybrinth
Author's Note: Prequel to Mirror Image.
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor. Please do not sue.

***

Where was he? How had he gotten here?

More importantly, why in the blazes couldn't he move his arms? And why was his head pounding as though an elephant was tap dancing in his skull?

The Doctor forced his eyes open, blinking and squinting against what he'd expected to be bright light. But no -- there was no brightness assaulting his vision, only a very dim light, what looked like pinpricks of stars high above him. He lay there, struggling against the disorientation that threatened to drown him in another wave of blackness.

He closed his eyes again, taking a deep breath and trying to ignore the nausea rising in his throat. Calm, that was it. He had to stay calm, assess the situation and try to think of a rational way to extricate himself from it. But first, he had to ascertain where he was.

It slowly dawned on him that his hands were bound behind his back -- which explained why he couldn't move his arms. The Doctor winced as he levered himself into a sitting position, difficult to do with his hands bound, but not impossible. He would have to look for a way to work his hands free, or he'd have a terrible time getting out of wherever he was.

The gag in his mouth was another irritation, but there was nothing he could do about that unless he could free his hands. At the moment, that didn't look like a possibility, so he would just have to put up with it and inwardly curse whoever had decided to truss him up like something out of a bdsm club. At least they'd allowed him the dignity of staying clothed.

The first order of business was to get to his feet, then find some way to free his hands and remove the damned gag -- and then find his way out of here and back to the Tardis. He had no idea where he was, but he was sure that he couldn't be far from his ship. And if he was, there were ways of finding his way back.

The events of the past few hours were coming back to him in bits and pieces. He groaned inwardly, shaking his head in frustration as his memories became clearer. He hadn't been looking for trouble, he really hadn't. But somehow, it always seemed to find him.

The most annoying thing about this was not knowing exactly why he'd managed to find whatever trouble he was in. He'd been minding his own business, determined to stay out of the way of the people around him, even going out of his way to avoid talking with them. But one of them had sought him out, a little too interested in finding out just who he was.

Which, of course, he couldn't tell them -- not without the possibility of having countless strange looks thrown in his direction, and perhaps having to deal with authorities that he really didn't want to put up with. So he had tried to neatly sidestep the increasingly probing questions -- and apparently had aroused suspicion by doing so.

His evasions had gotten him nothing more than a blow to the head, and the dubious privilege of being bound and gagged and left somewhere for what he could only presume was "safekeeping." He really didn't want to know what might be done to him if he didn't get out of here before the people who had so kindly given him this pounding headache came back.

The Doctor squinted in the darkness, looking around him and trying to see if there was anything with some sort of sharp edge that he could use to fray the ropes that bound his wrists. If he could at least get rid of his restraints, it would make getting out of here much easier.

Ah. There was a rough edge on one of the stone walls, hopefully rough enough to fray strands of rope, if he could reach it. He grunted as he rolled over once, then twice, slowly maneuvering himself over to the wall and sitting up. Yes, he could feel the rough edges against his wrists; now, he only had to rub the ropes against the stone enough to make them fray and snap.

After what seemed like an eternity, he could feel the ropes binding him starting to loosen -- a good thing, too, as his wrists were by now so numbed that he'd have to rub feeling back into them once he was free. He breathed a sigh of relief when the ropes finally loosened enough for him to pull his hands free, reaching up to yank the gag from his mouth and toss it away.

The Doctor got to his feet on unsteady legs, raising a hand to his head and wincing when his fingers came into contact with a large lump. He didn't know how hard he'd been struck, but it had obviously been hard enough to knock him out for quite a while -- it had been daytime when he'd last had his eyes open. When he brought his fingers away from his head, they felt sticky with blood; this was most definitely not a good sign.

He had to get back to the Tardis and ascertain just how much blood he'd lost. Of course, Time Lords could survive a much greater blood loss than humans, but he was already feeling dizzy and lightheaded just from standing up for a few moments, so there was no telling how weakened he was. And a blow to the head was always something to be cautious about.

He leaned against the stone, closing his eyes and resting his forehead against the cool surface for a few moments. He had to keep his head clear, keep his wits about him as much as possible. The first order of business was figuring out exactly where he was, and trying to formulate a plan to get out of here and make his way back to the Tardis.

Opening his eyes, the Doctor looked around with a slight frown. From what he could see, he was in some sort of maze, the walls crafted of rough stone. There was no hope of climbing over them; they ended a few feet above his head, and there were no handholds that he could make out.

So .... it looked as if his only recourse was to navigate the labyrinth and find his way out using his superior intellect. The problem with that conclusion was that his intellect seemed to have taken a vacation due to the brain-scrambling blow to the head he'd taken; his vision was wavering, and he had to concentrate to remember where he was and what he was doing.

He took a few shaky steps forward, leaning against the wall for support. Shaking his head, he sighed and forced himself to take a deep breath and square his shoulders. He certainly wasn't going to make it out of here in this condition, especially if he gave in to the weakness that was threatening to sweep over him. There had to be a way out of this labyrinth, if he could only focus enough to find it. Focus .... that was it ....

The blackness was starting to take over his vision again, a wave of dizziness making him blink and clutch at the wall. The Doctor fell back against the stone surface, his knees buckling. He couldn't stand up; he couldn't see; he couldn't move. Had his captors given him some sort of drug? Surely a mere blow to the head couldn't have caused this.

Whatever it was, he couldn't fight it. He slid down the wall to the floor, the nausea overcoming him again. Closing his eyes, the Doctor let his body go limp, giving in to the weakness that was seeping into his limbs, a weakness that he was more and more sure with each passing moment was drug-induced and didn't stem from anything that he'd suffered physically.

He had no idea how long he sat there, or even if he'd stayed conscious the entire time. But it was still dark when he opened his eyes again, and the nausea was gone. He still felt weak, but by this time, he was sure that he'd been drugged, and that the weakness was merely an aftereffect. He'd certainly wasted enough time at this point; there was no telling when the people who'd left him here might be coming back.

The Doctor didn't want to think of whatever unpleasant thing they might have planned for him -- and the quicker he managed to get himself out of here, the better. He got to his feet, looking around to get his bearings. Apparently, he wasn't in the centre of the labyrinth. He'd been left in one of the winding passageways, so perhaps it would be easier to find a way out from here.

Hmmm. Which way? Pulling out the sonic screwdriver, he turned slowly, shining the pinprick of light that it generated down each corridor that presented itself. Was it just his imagination, or did the light seem to become brighter when he shone it to his left? Very well, then. That was the route he would take, and hope that it turned out to be the right one.

One of the two had to lead out, he reasoned. His captors had obviously left him here to find his way out, or .... a sudden thought occurred to him, making him stop in mid-step. Maybe they'd left him here to die, thinking that he'd never find his way out and not intending to come back for him.

The Doctor had to suppress a shudder at the thought. He'd been in situations like this before, but never when he was alone. It was more than a bit daunting to realize that he'd have to find his own way out of this, with no help from another quarter.

But still, he worked best alone at times like this, really. He sighed, biting his lip and trying to push thoughts of his former companions out of his mind. He missed them -- he missed them all. He hated being alone, even when he knew that it was in his best interests to be so. It was past time that he tried to find someone else to join him in his travels.

Was that a glimmer of light up ahead of him? The Doctor squinted, blinking in the dim light of the corridor. The stone walls almost felt as though they were closing in on him, and if he had managed to find a way out, he doubted that it was unguarded. It wouldn't be an easy matter of slipping out and getting back to his ship, he was sure of that.

He approached the light cautiously, hope rising in him that it could possibly be an unguarded entrance to the labyrinth -- or an exit. Maybe this was where they'd brought him in, and then carried him to where he'd woken up so that he wouldn't be able to find his way out too quickly. It was astonishing that they hadn't come back for him yet ....

His steps slowed, a frown settling onto his features. Maybe they'd intended to leave him there, thinking that whatever drug they'd given him would do their dirty work for them. But what they hadn't counted on was the fact that he wasn't human -- and whatever it was that they'd drugged him with hadn't had the same effect as it would have on a human body.

The Doctor peered around the crudely etched doorway, his brows raising as he took in the sight. There was an open space that looked something like a market square, with a gate on the opposite side of where he was now -- and presumably, beyond that, another open area, which was where he was reasonably sure he'd left the Tardis.

The only problem was discovering a way to make it across that wide-open, fully lit space without being seen.

Of course, he could always make a run for it -- but in his weakened condition, if he was caught, he had the definite feeling that he wouldn't get a second chance to escape. But .... it looked as if he really had no chance but to run and hope that if anyone saw him, he would have the element of surprise on his side.

He took a deep breath, measuring the distance he would have to cross to make it to the gate. If it was easy to open, he could be through it in a matter of a few seconds -- and on the other hand, if it proved to be impossible to get open, he'd waste precious time having to climb over it, when he wasn't at all sure that his weakened body was capable of doing so.

It was a chance he'd have to take. And there was always the possibility that no one would see him, and he wouldn't have to worry about being pursued. That wasn't very likely, but he didn't like to discount any scenario.

His muscles tightened as he looked around again, straightening up from his slightly crouched position and preparing to run. Only a few more seconds, and he'd sprint across that space, get to the gate and open it -- and then, run like hell until he reached the Tardis. He could almost feel her pulling him towards her, waiting for him to burst through her doors and into safety. She was out there waiting for him, he was sure.

Another deep breath, and a quickly murmured intonation under his breath -- not quite a prayer, but something to bring him luck -- and he stepped out of the shadows, running across the open space towards the gate, a space that now seemed much wider than it had when he was looking at it from the relative safety of the door to the labyrinth.

There were a few shouts, but they didn't sound malicious, only annoyed that there was someone disturbing the peace of the night. The Doctor didn't look back; he didn't want to waste precious seconds checking to see if there was someone chasing him, someone who was a lot bigger than he was and who was ready to tackle him at any moment.

Reaching the gate, he frantically felt for some sort of latch, his fingers finding it much more quickly than he'd anticipated. He swung it open, surprised at the lightness of it, then banged it shut as he raced through. He only had time to catch a glimpse of two pursuers before he turned and fled, moving as fast as he could.

There. The Tardis, at the corner of what looked to be a small grove of trees. Only a few hundred feet, and he would be safe within her confines. He could hear the two men behind him, their breathing harsh, their footfalls sounding as if they were coming closer and closer with each step. He had to outrun them to the Tardis.

He reached the door, flinging it wide and then slamming it shut as he leaned against it, panting and closing his eyes. He could feel the pounding fists raining against the door from the other side, shaking the portal and no doubt cursing at the fact that they were locked out. He wanted nothing more than to sink to the floor and sleep for hours, but he still had one last thing to do before he could seek the healing oblivion of sleep.

He stumbled to the console, pressing buttons and pulling a lever. The interior of the Tardis lit up, and that strange sensation of space being displaced swept over him. He closed his eyes, clutching the edges of the console and letting himself go limp. He'd gotten away -- this time. But it had been a rather narrow escape, and one that he didn't care to repeat.

"I can't keep doing this alone," he muttered to himself as he turned towards the corridor that led to his bedroom, already starting to loosen his tie and pull off his jacket. "There has to be some easy way to find a companion."

Well, the Tardis was headed towards 21st-century London. If he couldn't find a companion there -- or at least find a place to stay for a while where he wouldn't get into some sort of trouble -- then he would give up on the venture for a while. Maybe it was best that he was alone, at least for the time being. It wasn't as though he couldn't rely on himself, after all.

But he would worry about that when he got to the 21st century. For now, he needed to sleep and let his body heal itself. Time to worry about other concerns when he reached his destination, and more than enough time to make some sort of decision about his future after he'd recovered from the last little adventure.

There was no premonition of what was going to happen, no feeling of anticipation. All that the Doctor felt when he sank into bed was weariness, curling up under the blankets and closing his eyes. Within moments, he was asleep, trusting the Tardis to stand guard over him as they hurtled through time and space.

He had no idea just what sort of adventure he was in for.

***