Lyssa forced herself to breathe quietly through her mouth as she crawled through the dusty air vent. At first she'd thought she'd need some sort of screwdriver to get into the vents, or that she'd have to break her way in. As it turned out, the vent cover was magnetically attached to the wall, and all she'd needed to do was apply enough force to pull it away, nearly tumbling off her precarious perch on the shelves below when it finally snapped free.
Once she'd regained her balance, she glanced around the room behind her. She'd done her best to return everything to their proper places, although to anyone familiar with the room it would be obvious someone had messed things up. The really tricky part had come when she'd tried to reach the vent.
If she'd moved the table over underneath, it would have been immediately apparent how she'd gotten out (not that it likely wouldn't have been anyways), so she'd had to trust - hope, really - that the shelves would hold her weight, holding her breath every time they'd creaked or groaned as she'd climbed upwards.
Fortunately, the shelves had been fastened to the wall, and by keeping her weight close to the supports she was able to make her way to the top without knocking anything over, or falling to a noisy demise. From there, she'd been able to open the vent and take a look inside.
It appeared to be just over a foot and a half tall, and roughly twice that in width. In other words - just big enough for her fit in, though there wouldn't be much room to navigate around. Good thing she wasn't claustrophobic.
At least, she hoped she wasn't. This would be a horrible way to find out she actually was.
On the bright side, the dust covering everything meant it had been undisturbed for some time now, and she might actually have some time to get somewhere before her escape route had been noticed.
Taking one last look around the room to make sure she hadn't missed anything, she saw a few scraps of paper on the floor that she'd missed in her clean-up after tearing their personal files to shreds and dumping them down the drain. It would likely be found quickly enough, but there was no writing on them, and nothing that would point to her using the air vent to escape either, so she ignored them.
Everything else appeared to be in order, so she turned back to the vent. Taking a deep breath, she steeled herself, picked up the vent cover, and crawled in. Once she was fully inside, she curled her body up as much as she could and reached backwards, sliding the vent cover back out into the room and awkwardly tried to fit it back into place. It snapped back into place after about a minute of sliding it around against the wall, only for her to realize that she'd snapped it on upside down.
Stifling a groan, she grabbed the cover again, pushed it away from the wall, and flipped it around, fiddling around with it until it snapped into place again. As best as she could see around herself, it was straight and in place, so she awkwardly uncurled herself and looked ahead of her. She could see a few yards ahead of her lit by the light coming through the grille, but everything after that was pitch black.
The Doctor owed her so much if they survived this.
Taking a deep breath again - and immediately pinching her nose to keep from sneezing when she inhaled dust - she started forward. It was an awkward way of moving, as she was basically army crawling her way in the dark, the low ceiling forcing her down.
She used her hands to feel around in front of her, never knowing if there was going to be a sudden drop or other obstacle in her path. Or worse - something alive, but she forced her mind away from such thoughts. If she was crawling through a tiny tunnel alone in the dark, she had to keep her mind focused, or she was gonna have a breakdown in short order.
She still might anyways, but it was probably for the best to put it off as long as possible.
She crawled along in this manner for what felt like a century, but was probably more like fifteen minutes, before she saw a tiny hint of light in the distance. Hoping that it was a way out, she picked up her speed - although still careful to keep sweeping the area in front of her before moving forward.
She almost cried when she reached the light, so happy to see something break up the pitch black she had been trapped in for so long. It was another grille that she could easily remove now that she knew how.
She almost cried again when she realized that the room was filled with Atrellians, and that there was no way she wouldn't be noticed if she tried to get out this way. Most of them were wearing lab coats, and the rest were dressed like the soldiers, guarding the doors.
"Bethar! What are the results for the human?" one of the scientists, looking into what looked like a microscope, called to the others.
"All test results suggest extreme adaptability," Bethar responded after a minute, looking at a sheet of paper. "The human was converted easily, and this suggests that the merge will be just as successful. Given what Maken has learned from the memories of the Time Lord, it appears that humans are quite susceptible to drugs and other outside influences."
He shifted the page and looked at another one beneath it. "If we place the female human under the Alprazolam, she will likely be drained in a matter of days. According to the tests, this will grant us roughly ninety years, although Mekar claims that the memories of the human suggest that this lifespan varies from human to human."
"Meaning what? That we cannot be guaranteed ninety years?" the other scientist narrowed his eyes, frowning at the other. "We do not often see humans here, Bethar. We must be certain of our results."
Bethar sighed. "I have told you before, Athelin. Human lifespan varies from human to human, and even from male to female. Data suggests that the females typically, though not always, have longer lifespans. I recommend we convert the human male as well, merge him, and compare the results."
Lyssa, watching silently from behind the grille, sucked in a breath as she realized that they were talking about Rory. That meant he was still alive, at least, if they were planning on converting him, but for how long? The one scientist had said the female - likely Amy - would be drained, and that would end up giving them ninety years? But what did that mean? Her lips moved silently as she tried to process all the new information.
At last she shook her head. She obviously wouldn't be escaping through this vent any time soon, and the scientists had turned back to their work, meaning she probably wouldn't be hearing any new information either. Her mind still turning over the facts, she turned away from the grille and continued on further into the vent, quickly getting swallowed up by the darkness once more.
There had been a lot of emphasis on lifespan. From the Atrellians' normal lifespan being extended far beyond what was normal, to the test tubes with the lifespans of all the different species, to Bethar claiming that they could get ninety years from Amy. And she'd already worked out that they were trying to use Amy and the Doctor's lifespan to further their own. Except she'd assumed it was through reproduction somehow.
But... maybe they were straight up stealing it? Literally taking the years from their victims and giving it to their own people somehow? But then why did they have to turn them to children to do it? And what was the Alprazolam that they had mentioned? How would it drain them?
Her hand slipped and she almost face-planted against the bottom of the tunnel before she managed to catch herself. Her heart racing from the sudden surge of adrenaline, she shook her head to clear her thoughts. She was getting distracted in a situation where a single wrong move could lead to her being found out.
She kept crawling, and eventually passed by another grille over a hallway. Soldiers were running through on high alert, barking orders and weapons at the ready. A red light over a doorway opposite the grille was flashing, and she heard what looked like a commander ordering one of the soldiers to alert Maken of the situation. There was nothing she could do here, so she kept going, careful not to make any noise.
Maken. Bethar had mentioned that name, said he'd learned something from the memories of the Time Lord. That meant that he either had learned them from the Eleventh Doctor's clone passing them on, or he was the clone. Either way, he sounded like one of the head honchos, and thus should be avoided.
When she came upon another patch of light five minutes later, she didn't even bother getting her hopes up.
And then she looked through the grille into an empty room, presumably another laboratory. Forcing herself to wait and listen for any signs of someone coming in, she mentally rejoiced when everything remained completely quiet. Trying to push open the grille, her hand slipped and sliced itself on the grating.
Letting out an involuntary cry and clutching her hand, she froze when she realized that she had potentially lost her cover. Still holding her stinging palm, she waited tensely for soldiers to come charging into the room, or even, no matter how ridiculous the idea was, the vent.
But nothing happened, even after she'd waited an extra few minutes. At last she realized that she might as well act now, and hopefully be prepared if someone came in, than wait too long and be caught in the act. Being more careful this time, she latched onto the grille and carefully pushed it away from the wall, tightening her grip when the magnets gave way and it fell forward.
Slowly pushing her way out of the vent, she looked around the room for a way to get down, and saw a bookcase below, similar to the setup in the laboratory she'd woken up in. Placing the vent cover on top of the shelf, she wriggled her way out of the vent and onto the bookcase, careful to test its ability to hold her weight before trusting it completely. Putting the grille back into place, she grimaced when she saw that she'd left dirty, slightly bloody marks on it.
Her grimace grew even deeper when she looked at her hands. They were covered in a solid layer of dust and grime, and there was a thin cut on her left hand that was sluggishly bleeding. Biting her lip (which also tasted like dust, ew), she tried to think. Wiping her hands off on her shirt was a no go, that was just as dirty as she was. The inside, however...
Flipping over the bottom of her shirt, she wiped her hands off on it as best as she could, mentally grumbling at the loss of yet another cute shirt she'd probably end up never wearing again. Reaching out and grabbing the vent again, she wiped it off on the opposite side of her shirt, wrinkling her nose as it only seemed to smear at first.
Finally, however, it was returned to its white state, and she placed it back against the wall, careful to ensure that it wasn't upside down this time. Once that was in place, she looked down at the shelf she was currently on top of, trying to figure out the best way down, preferably without breaking something.
Her best bet was to stick to the supports, and get to the ground as soon as possible before someone came in and found her in an undefendable position. Wrapping her hands around one of the supports, and wincing when her palm protested, she shimmied down the bookcase, dropping to the floor when she was a few feet away.
She grunted as the impact jarred her feet, and quickly stood up straight, checking herself over for more injuries. Aside from the cut on her palm, which felt more like a deep paper cut than anything more serious, and the bruises she already knew about, she seemed unharmed.
Covered in a deep layer of grime, maybe, but unharmed. Still, she needed to wrap up her hand, or at the very least wash it out. She didn't want to know what kind of alien diseases she might end up letting into her bloodstream if she wasn't careful.
Hurrying over to the sink, she turned the water on and rinsed her hand out as best as she could, not daring to trust whatever the Atrellians used for soap. Taking advantage of the opportunity, she wiped down her face and arms as best as she could, only to wince when she caught sight of herself in a mirror hanging nearby. Her face was clean, but her hair was filthy, and even the strands that brushed against her cheeks were leaving marks.
Not to mention that now that the grime was gone, the red mark on her face was showing up nice and bright.
The Doctor was gonna freak if he saw that.
Grimacing, she lifted her arm and carefully rubbed her dirty sleeve against the bruise until it was buried under a nice layer of grime that trailed up to her temple to make it look more natural. Doing the same for her arms, she looked around the room, but saw nothing else that came to mind as being useful in any way, even as information.
Crossing over to the single door, she placed her ear against the cool metal, listening for signs of activity. When she heard nothing, she gingerly turned the handle and pushed the door open, on the alert for any sign of alarm. Still nothing, so she crept into the room, which looked like yet another laboratory, although this one had an examination table in the center, and someone lying still on it, dead to the world.
Upon stepping closer, she realized it was Rory, strapped to the table and a bruise on his arm that matched hers. Several vials of neatly labeled blood sat on a nearby shelf, and she immediately placed them in her pocket next to the others before stepping up next to Rory and gingerly poking him in the arm.
When he didn't respond, she did it again, then shook him gently. When that still did nothing, she gave up on the gentle response and shook him harder, patting him on the cheeks and trying not to cheer when he eventually groaned, his hand coming up in a limp effort to bat her hands away.
Not letting up, she kept shaking him until he was fully awake and mostly coherent. Blinking against the harsh light, he frowned at her. "Lyssa?" he asked blearily.
"That's me," she whispered, hastily shushing him. "Keep your voice down. I don't know who else is around here." Trying to undo the straps around his arms, she tugged at the knot uselessly before turning back to him. "I don't suppose you have a pocket knife on you?" she asked hesitantly.
Still blinking as he tried to reorient himself, he managed to nod. "Left front pocket. I try to keep one on me at all times. Can't count how often I've had to use it when someone's hurt themself and I have to improvise. Careful how you open it, though. It's a bit tricky."
Quickly locating the knife, she unhooked it from his pocket and - after nearly slicing her fingers open and enduring Rory's "I told you to be careful" - set to work on Rory's straps, bringing him up to speed on what she'd discovered so far, glossing over how she'd been captured.
Once his arms were free, Rory explained what had happened from his end while she went to work on his legs, rubbing his forehead. "Amy - the fake one, I mean - got me while we were on the run. We'd cut through the gardens, and were almost to the TARDIS when she jumped out from behind one of the tress and hit me with a branch or something. I dropped like a rock before -" He sat up suddenly, startling Lyssa and almost making her drop the knife. "Amy! I mean - Amelia! Where is she?"
Lyssa bit her lip. "I don't know, but I think I can guess." Cutting the last strap free, she handed the knife back to him after unsuccessfully trying to close it. He closed it easily and returned it to his pocket, sliding off the table and standing on slightly shaky feet. "Do you feel all right? No signs of de-aging, or lack of memory, or anything like that?"
"I feel like I do every time Amy gets herself into trouble," Rory assured her, frowning at the bruise. "I'm guessing they withdrew blood?" At Lyssa's confused look he smiled. "I'm a nurse. I know what a bruise from a shot looks like, and the placing is too specific to be anything else."
"Oh. Uh, yeah." Lyssa tapped on her pocket. "They did it to all of us, but I think I got all that they took from us. Put it in my pocket, figured the Doctor might want to take a look at it. Who knows, maybe it'll even help them come up with a cure for the shrinking, or something."
"Yeah..." Rory blew out a slow breath. "Speaking of the Doctor, I know you said the past him was trapped in here somewhere. I don't suppose you know how we're supposed to get out of here so that we can go rescue him? Won't be much of a rescue if the rescuers end up needing to be rescued."
"Uh..." Lyssa hesitated, eyes flying around the room, halting on a lab coat hanging on a hook. A daring idea came to mind, and she grinned. "It's a good thing that the Atrellians have so many things similar to Earth," she diverted, darting over, grabbing the coat, and handing it to Rory.
"Dare I ask why?" he asked slowly, staring at the coat uncertainly.
She shrugged. "What is the Doctor always says? If you act like you know what you're doing, people will rarely stop you. Fake it till you make it, right?"
He nodded slowly. "Okay. Fake what? I'm not exactly following you here. I don't look like the Atrellians, Lyssa. I won't be able to blend in, even with the coat."
"No, we don't look like them, but," Lyssa smirked. "They look like us."
"Hold on." Rory pointed a finger at her. "You want me to pretend to be one of the clones?"
Lyssa pointed right back at him. "Bingo. I already overheard one of the scientists talking about converting you, so you can just pretend that you've already been converted, and that you're one of the scientists assuming his identity."
"Okay, but what about you?" Rory pointed out. "Two of us together might be a bit suspect. Especially since you look a bit... dirty," he hedged.
"Thank you for reminding me," Lyssa grumbled. "Still, you have a point." Crossing her arms, she began to pace. "Maybe... maybe we say that you found me wandering in the halls, and took on your identity to pretend to be you, so that you could capture me. And then say that you're supposed to bring me to the Tenth Doctor under Maken's orders. He's one of the head guys."
"Let me get this straight," Rory blinked. "I'm supposed to pretend to be someone else pretending to be me so I could take you captive, and then pretend I'm bringing you to the Tenth Doctor, where the clone of our Doctor is likely waiting for us."
"Um... yes?" Lyssa grinned sheepishly.
Rory sighed. "Won't be the first time, I suppose, and it probably won't be the last. But I don't think I should wear the lab coat, though. I wasn't wearing one earlier, and if I'm pretending to be me, wearing a lab coat would have made you suspicious."
Lyssa shrugged. "Okay. If you think you can fake it without it, go ahead. I'll try and act resentful or something, play up the ruse."
xXx
And that's the story of how she ended up stalking through the hallways with a scowl on her face and crossed arms as Rory strode behind her, back straight and radiating a casual confidence as he pretended to push her along every few yards.
They were only stopped once by a curious guard, but Rory, pulling out all the stops, verbally tore into him for stopping someone "under direct orders to bring her to Maken for further testing due to her biological abnormalities, and if he knew anything about biological testing and compatibility, he was more than welcome to take his place." The guard had quickly apologized, and they had been left alone after that.
"On the one hand, I'm glad we're being left alone, but on the other hand, I have no idea where I'm going," Rory muttered after a minute.
"Just fake it till you make it," Lyssa muttered under her breath. "I know we're traveling in the reverse direction of the way I crawled, so hopefully we'll end up in the same area. If you see a giant plant with tendrils shooting out every which way, let me know. It's probably the right area."
"Oh, yeah, that's helpful. Thanks," Rory snarked, turning a corner into a deserted hallway. "If I see a giant plant that looks -" He paused, then sheepishly continued. "Okay, I see a giant plant with tendrils everywhere."
He tugged her over to a small window overlooking a large dirt room. At the center of the room was the bush she had seen earlier, although she was unable to see the Tenth Doctor or the clone from this viewpoint. "Is this the right place?"
Lyssa nodded frantically. "Yeah, this is it. This is where the Tenth Doctor and the clone were. How do we get in?"
Rory looked around. "Uh, there's a door a few meters down the hall. Try there?"
Lyssa shrugged. "Can't hurt. Running down the hallway to the door, she turned to Rory, who stood on the other side of the doorway. "You ready for this? There might be people in there."
Rory raised his eyebrows at her. "Lyssa, these people have kidnapped my wife and the Doctor, pretended to be them, experimented on us, and are going to kill Amy and the Doctor if we don't stop them. I will do whatever it takes to stop them."
Lyssa blinked, then smiled sheepishly. "Okay, yeah. Right. Sorry. Let's go."
Taking the lead and not even bothering to be subtle, Rory threw open the door and charged in, followed close behind by Lyssa. After looking around and not seeing any sign of an opponent, he pushed the door shut. "I'm guessing that's our way in?" he asked, nodding at a door on the other side of the room, which appeared to be a closet of some sort, with protective gear and uniforms hanging against the wall and various tools and supplies laying underneath.
"Well... better arm ourselves now," Lyssa suggested, reaching down and grabbing a pipe. "I've used one of these before, fought off a killer sun. Maybe I can use it again."
"I'd ask you to explain what you meant by that, but I've traveled long enough with the Doctor that I don't think I need to," Rory muttered, looking around for something to use.
A quiet voice came from the corner, making them both freeze.
"You know, you can learn a lot by looking through a girl's memories." The slim figure of Amy's clone stepped out of the shadows, smirking at them both. "Take Amelia Pond Williams, for example. Just a quick glance through there, and whoo! She has a lot of trust in you, Mr. Williams. I wonder how she'll feel when you don't come for her." She pouted playfully at Rory, who looked disconcerted. "But then - she's felt that before, hasn't she?"
Rory stiffened, glaring at the woman. "I always come for Amy. Always. And she knows that."
"Does she?" the woman hummed. "I don't know, Rory. A lot of these memories are showing you arriving just a bit... too... late. Do the words Demon's Run bring a bell?"
Something seemed to shift in Rory, and suddenly the friendly nurse was gone, leaving the Last Centurion in his place. Strong, angry, and very, very dangerous.
"Lyssa, go find the Doctor. I'll take care of her."
"Ooh, like we're taking care of your Doctor and Amy?" the woman purred. "Maybe I should be worried. Except - I'm not. Don't take it personally, dear. You are only human, after all."
Rory only smiled crookedly. "Funny you should mention that. I wasn't always human, you know. And Amy, my Amy... doesn't know how much I love her, or what I'd do to protect her. What I have done to protect her. Don't take it personally. After all, at the moment, you are only human."
The clone's eyes narrowed. "You forget. I have access to most of Amelia's memories. I know how to read you. I know you fought with a sword. But you don't have one with you today." She pulled out two sharp daggers, brandishing them easily.
Lyssa whispered a quiet, "Good luck!" to Rory before darting to the other door and, clutching the pipe in her hand, gently pushed it open, slipping through as soon as she could and letting it silently fall shut again behind her.
Rory glanced down at his pocket, as if contemplating brandishing his pocketknife, before dismissing the thought with a shake of his head. He turned back to the clone with an easy smile, not a hint of worry or even acknowledgement of the daggers on his face.
"And you forget," he retorted easily. "I have all my memories. I know Amy. And I know something you seem to be forgetting."
"And what's that?" the woman sneered, finally taking a step forward and swiping her dagger at him experimentally.
He dodged it, and the follow-up, expertly, dancing to the side and twisting out of reach before his hand snapped up to grab her wrist and twisted it around behind her. "I don't need a weapon to be able to take you down. I'm a nurse."
~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~
A/N: All the respect for nurses, man. They put up with a LOT. That being said, they also know your pressure points and how to knock you out. (No, I'm absolutely not speaking from personal experience. What are you talking about?) Respect the nurses! O.O
Special thanks to everyone who's followed, voted, and commented, your support has been amazing!
Thank you all for reading, and I hope you enjoyed! :)
General Disclaimer: I don't own Doctor Who, just Lyssa.