A/N: Thanks for all your reviews. I especially appreciate the constructive criticisms. There has been a comment pointing out that the Doctor seems to be recovering rather too quickly- and I agree. So here's this chapter; hope it's a bit better.

Chapter 10

"I guess... it's time you knew what really happened."

Jack nearly dropped the cup he was holding. He looked up, startled. "What? No, no, you don't have to, Doc!"

He had seen the Doctor have a terrible breakdown at the slightest reminder of his past; hell, he'd just seen him banging his head on the wall till he was bleeding.

Yes, well, Rose had helped him come back to his senses after that. And he'd managed to climb up the stairs, allowed himself to get patched up by Martha, and have a fairly lucid conversation. But Jack knew that the Doctor wasn't all right, no... far from it. The Time Lord was horribly traumatized, and the fit of self-harm had only weakened his physical condition. His gaze flitted downwards- yes, the Doctor's hands were still visibly trembling.

The Doctor was aware of this, too, and he felt a pang of embarrassment shoot through his mind. Why did he have to be so weak? Why couldn't he just, get over his past? In a stubborn attempt to hide his trembling hand, he placed his left hand on his right one and squeezed it to keep it still. Looking up, he ground out in a steely, stubborn tone.

"I have to. I can't run away anymore." I shouldn't, I shouldn't, they will come and get me again!... his voice got lost somewhere in his throat. Helpless, weak, good for bloody nothing!

"Doctor, please, listen to Jack. You shouldn't be too hard on yourself. It has been hard enough for you all this time. We can wait," Rose pleaded and placed her hand on his shoulder, trying to calm him down. The Doctor's gaze dropped, and he drew in a shuddering breath.

"I'm not a kid. You don't need to protect me!" he insisted, feeling bitter. They were giving him a sympathetic look, and he hated it. He was the one who was supposed to be protecting them. He knew it was a childish thought, but it was the truth. A very complicated truth. He needed to be taken care of, he knew it and he wanted them to help him; nontheless, his pride was awfully hurt by having to admit it.

He wanted more than anything to just... get over what had happened as fast as possible, and then run away with Rose on the TARDIS. Fast. Far. Away, away, away from the horrible memories, the humiliating now. His head was spinning, and he grabbed Rose's other hand for support. His grip tightened momentarily, and Rose immediately looked at him in alarm, to see if he needed help. He squeezed his eyes shut to avoid her tender gaze.

It was his mistake.

Rose. Arkytior. Susan Foreman. Oh, sweet Susan. I'm so sorry. His mind immediately plunged into the darkness, skipping from one thought to another at a dizzying speed, and he felt like throwing up. Yes, he'd run before, didn't he? He had left his granddaughter behind with her lover on Earth, not looking back even once. He'd hoped that she would lead a happy, settled life- something he could never have.

And how had that ended up? She died, and her son died too. All because of the Daleks. If he had let her stay with him, she might have lived. It was all his fault. His. Yes, Rose, too- why was she here? He had left her with his metacrisis copy in another universe. The mere fact that she was here with him spoke volumes; that it hadn't worked out at all. She had been unhappy there, so she had come back. He had caused her pain again, first time by leaving her behind, and next time by letting her down like this.

Now he knew. Everything he touched turned to dust. Running away didn't help.

He let out a ragged breath and opened his eyes. The room was quiet like hell, and they were watching him anxiously. The Doctor noticed that his hands were in his hair, his legs pulled up to his chest in a self-protective gesture. How long had he zoned out from the reality? Nine minutes? Ten? He'd thought he was getting better, but he wasn't. He felt ashamed- disoriented... no, both. Definitely both. No, no, no, Doctor, concentrate, you are losing it again.

"Doctor," Rose tried again. The Doctor's eyes fell on her, and she felt horror creep into her heart. His pupils were heavily dilated, and he was breathing harshly, his chest rising and falling rapidly. His hands were shuddering again. He was seemingly unaware of everything. She knew the Doctor, and she knew it when something was wrong. She couldn't explain how she knew- she just did. This wasn't just a panic attack, or symptoms of PTSD.

Taking hold of his hand, she started in a soft voice. "It'll be all right, Doctor. Calm down. I'm here. We are all here." Then she turned to Martha and said in a quiet voice, "Martha, I think we have a problem that we don't know about. I'm not an expert on this, but I don't think two thousand years' imprisonment would do this to him. I mean, he could have entered a self-induced healing coma, but he didn't. Why would that be? There was something else."

The Doctor was still breathing hard, curling in on himself. Martha looked at him, her eyes wide from shock.

"I've never thought of the possibility. You are right. Why?" Rose stepped back as Martha came forward, gently pulling a chair near to the sofa. She sat down and took the half-unconscious Time Lord's pulse. It was too fast, even by his standard. Wait. She felt dread creep up her heart. Oh. Oh. Everything was clicking into place- the clues. Why didn't he enter a coma to save himself from the pain?

Rapid, intense emotional swings and seeing images, hearing sounds, and feeling sensations that seem real but are not. Hallucination, memory loss, extreme panic, fear, anxiety, invulnerability, aggression, disorientation, loss of coordination, dizziness, feelings of detachment from self and environment. They were all pointing towards a single conclusion, and she hadn't realized up till now. She had just attributed the symptoms to the long-time imprisonment and his alien-ness...

"Doctor," she said, struggling to keep her voice calm and controlled, "were you... drugged during your time in the prison?"

The Doctor's head abruptly jerked upwards as he gasped out, "Drugs temporarily disrupting communication between neurotransmitter systems throughout the brain and spinal cord that regulate mood, sensory perception, sleep, hunger, body temperature. Hallucinogen, disassociative drug, it's in my system. Unable to metabolize. Disabling certain Time Lord biological functions such as self-induced coma or regeneration. They kept injecting it. They kept making me look back! Stop it, stop it, please!"

"Oh, shit," Jack moaned. No wonder the Doctor seemed to regress even further every time he made a progress in recovery. Hallucinogens forcibly injected- that explained everything. Even Time Agency wasn't that cruel to its prisoners! Who were those bastards that had so extensively tortured the Time Lord? And how could he, Jack, be so goddamn thick? He hadn't known... hadn't even suspected that something was wrong...

What should they do?

Rose's hands flew to her mouth in horror. Martha paled considerably, too, but she was a doctor; she knew she needed to keep everything controlled. So, as much as her heart broke, she placed her hand on his head and inhaled deeply. "Oh god... I'm so sorry, Doctor, I really am."

After that, she immediately spun around and pointed at Jack and Mickey. "Mickey, take him to the TARDIS med bay. We need to stabilize his condition without the sedatives- only the TARDIS can do that. Jack, go to that damned box and find the remaining drug. He had been drugged for such a long time, he lost the ability to metabolize it. It's still in his system, and it's the thing that's driving him mad. We are going to find out what it is... and we are going to fight it. Rose, keep close to him."

"God, he's too light. He was heavier than this on Christmas," Mickey breathed out in shock, easily hauling him over his shoulder. Rose blinked back tears, but froze in shock when he opened his eyes and looked at her with eyes clouded in pain.

"What's going on?" he mumbled, hanging awkwardly over Mickey's shoulder. It would have looked funny if... if things weren't so terrible. He squinted at Rose and smiled weakly. "I seem to have zoned out a bit. I remember Jack saying that Ianto and Gwen were bringing in Chinese- and then Mickey the Idiot's carrying me over his back. Gosh, I'm starving... maybe craving. Rose? Rose?" He looked alarmed. He squinted. "Why are you crying? Did something happen?"

Only then did she realize that tears were rolling down her cheek. She quickly wiped it away and smiled tearfully. She held out her hand and gripped his reassuringly.

"No, I'm okay. What about you?"

"Me? Of course I'm okay, too. I'm the king of okay..." he grinned weakly.

Liar. They were both lying, and she knew it. Both of them were far from okay, and they were lying, for each other's sake. She could have laughed in bitter irony, but she didn't. Instead, when they reached the TARDIS med bay and Mickey gently placed him on the examination table, she reached out and hugged him. He seemed to be frozen in surprise for a moment before laughing a little and hugging back. They stayed like that for some time, until Martha and Jack joined them.

Because, obviously... hugging was the best way of hiding one's face.

Hearing about his past would have to wait.

A/N: I know, sorry, it's horribly confusing, but I couldn't help it. The Doctor's drugged, and he's having awful mood swings- he's the confused one, and this chapter simply reflected his current condition. But I'll revise this chapter later.

I don't think his confession would come too easily.

Please review:)