a/n: Ok, first things first, I am soooo sorry that this is so late.

I had the wholock extravaganza, which was so much fun but kept me really busy, then I had five days to do ten assignments (not fun), after that there were doctors trips, new medication to get used to that made me doze off to sleep in the middle of the day a few times at first, then my laptop went all screwy and I had to get it repaired, turns out their was a huge clump of cat hair in the exhaust fan.

So my laptop is finally back, and with it all those important little things like the chapters of this story, my word processing programs and my mood music. I wrote about half of the eleventh chapter, but then I got a brainwave and had to put in another chapter in it's place. So the good news is that the twelfth chapter is already half finished.

So, long story short, this is really late, but there were reasons.

Again, a huge thank you to:

TheMysteriousComicGeek, thedoctorandriver, XXForestStarXX, Aoi Dragon, Karyn Phantom, Aria, Oh-My-Dead-Wizard-Gawd, Lena Sinoijet Yao-Braginski, EmoGeekGirl, Random, , lemon, menairchu, DoctorWhoFan, Saphura, TheHomerow, zebu-in-a-fez, ChelGallifreya221B613, Ali, I'mjustheretoread, Starrxx, 2die, Iatheia, FezWearingBanana, Hortensia, Nataly SkyPot, shinalisz, Skiwriter, mickeythebluemagic, Thalianaa, 2die, Sehkmet, skabs, pearlgirl97 and several guests for your reviews.

Anyway, enough reading the authors note, if you've stuck with me this far, pat yourself on the back and go back to reading the story!

In this chapter The Doctor attempts to give Torchwood some advice on interplanetary relations, and, needless to say, things continue to go badly for him.

He groaned quietly, forcing his eyes to open groggily and trying to clear his swimming head. His whole body felt like he'd somehow been run over by a steamroller, or perhaps gone twelve rounds with a nine-hundred pound gorilla, or used as a football by a squad of Judoon, or maybe even mouthed off to a particularly irate cactus.

Memory started to return to his momentarily fuzzy head, and, upon realising why he felt like a poorly reanimated zombie he kind of wished he had annoyed a cactus. At least that would have been an interesting story to tell, rather than 'a bunch of scientists held me at taser-point and made me run all day'. Next time he felt like telling someone about his exploits, he would definitely be leaving this part out.

Reining in his unruly thoughts, he came to the conclusion that he really needed something to drink. He cracked his eyes open blearily, looking around the cell. Sherlock was lying on his back, hands folded and staring at the ceiling, seemingly lost in thought.

"Here," Sherlock said, rolling a bottle of water across the cell floor without taking his eyes of the ceiling, "The guards left some bottles of water when they brought you in. You look like hell."

He unscrewed the bottle and drank slowly, taking small sips so he wouldn't make himself sick, "Thanks," he said gratefully, his voice still hoarse, "I was beginning to think they didn't care." He smirked tiredly.

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "I'd rest while you can. Judging from the previous few days you have an hour or two before they drag you off for another 'test'."

"How long was I asleep" He asked incredulously.

"About twelve hours," Sherlock drawled, "I thought about waking you, but you were pretty out of it, I thought it was best to just let you sleep."

"That can't be right, twelve hours? I haven't slept that long since the last time I regenerated. Well, at least I'm not leaking regenerative energy and having to sword fight a Sycorax after losing and regrowing a hand this time."

Sherlock raised an eyebrow, "You regrew a hand?"

"Yeah, it's a pity I can't always do that all the time, it would certainly be useful." He said, imagining what he could do with that ability.

"So what happened to the hand? The first hand, the one you lost?" Sherlock asked curiously.

"The Sycorax cut it off while we were having a duel with swords in the spaceship made from an asteroid that was hovering over London. It fell off the ship and landed in London, and was picked up by the leader of Torchwood Cardiff, who was one of my companions until we got separated on a space station above earth in the year 200, 100 that was overrun by Daleks. He was killed by the Daleks but my other companion, Rose, absorbed all the power of the time vortex and brought him back to life. She made a bit of a mistake though, and now he can't die. Well... he can't die for a very, very long time anyway. He kept it for a while, until it was stolen by another renegade Time Lord who had been hiding at the end of the universe in human form."

"He used it in the-year-that-never-was to program his laser screwdriver to age me one hundred years, and then later he completely suspended my ability to regenerate so I actually looked like I was nine hundred years old. It wasn't pretty. After that it just sat in the Tardis for a few years until the Daleks decided to cause trouble again and stole the earth."

"I got shot by a Dalek and was starting to regenerate when I managed to divert the excess regenerative energy into the hand. I healed myself up, but I didn't change. Later, the container the hand was in got knocked over, and, since it was a part of me chock full of very fresh regenerative energy it grew into a half human duplicate. I left the duplicate with Rose in a parallel universe, before sealing up the cracks between our universes, so they can't be opened again. So my hand is now walking and talking and hopefully living a good, normal life with Rose." He explained, barely pausing for breath.

Sherlock's eyes widened slightly at the unbelievable tale, before they narrowed a little, "So, you and Rose..."

"There was something there, more than something, but we never really got a chance. I lost her, she fell into the other universe. She came back, but... I left her back in the other universe. Her family was there, the human-Doctor was there, and he could give her what I couldn't. It was better that way, I'm not exactly safe to be around. All my companions leave, in the end."

He looked down, before forcing himself to smile, "Plus, she's a human, I'm a Time Lord. The age gap was a little astounding," he tried to laugh, but it came out a little weak.

"What about your other companions?" Sherlock asked a little awkwardly, trying to change the subject. Apparently he wasn't comfortable discussing lost love, or whatever it was that he and Rose had.

He smiled, and began telling stories of his travels with Martha, Jack, Rose, and Donna. He never mentioned Donna's name though, and only described her as a feisty redhead and 'the best temp in Chiswick'. The last thing he wanted was for Donna to be taken in by Torchwood. That could make her remember, it could kill her.

Still, there were plenty of stories to tell, several lifetimes worth. Sometimes it felt like his life was just one huge story.

He was on his feet as soon as he heard the footsteps approaching, shoulders squared and face firmly schooled to indifference. His eyes widened a little when he realized that Benjamin Stykes himself had come to escort him this time.

"Hullo Benny," he said cheerfully, "Long time, no see."

Stykes frowned a little, and expressed his disapproval by nodding at one of the guards. The butt of a rifle was slammed into his side, hard, knocking the breath out of his lungs.

"Oi!" he gasped, trying to regain his breath, "I was just trying to be friendly. You guys really need to talk to a human resources advisor, maybe get some anger management classes? I mean, I've come across aggressive armed guards before, but you guys take the cake! I mean, you make a Judoon look friendly! Heck, compared to you the Daleks are polite, and they're basically just armed pepper shakers filled with hate!"

"Shut. Up." Stykes ground out from behind clenched teeth.

"What, so the prisoner isn't allowed to talk now?" He asked sharply, letting a little anger bleed through. He wasn't going to outright defy them, that would be too risky, but that didn't mean he had to take the abuse with a smile.

"No, he is not." Stykes answered, already walking down the corridor.

"Well I hate to disappoint you," He said, following along without letting the guards shove him this time, "But it takes more than a few blows to the gut to shut me up. Trust me, it's been tried before."

"well we'll just have to see if we can figure something else out, won't we?" Stykes said with a predatory grin.

He really didn't like that grin.

He kept his mouth shut and studied the other man as they walked, trying to see any glimmer of humanity in him. He was disappointed, the man was cold and cruel, completely devoid of compassion, everything about him screamed that; his bearing, the way he addressed his men, the way he looked at people, the way he looked at him. If the scientists were bad, this man was a hundred times worse.

It seemed that everyone in this place held him responsible for the destruction of the old Torchwood One. While he didn't want to think badly of the deceased, he had warned them, he had done everything he could to prevent the catastrophe, but they hadn't listened.

As reckless, amoral and downright stupid as they had been though, at least the old Torchwood had believed in what they were doing. Yvonne Hartman had believed in it strongly enough to override the Cyberman programing, something that he wouldn't have believed was possible if he hadn't seen two very formidable women manage it.

This lot were in it for power, not the power of some hypothetical British Empire, but their own power. And revenge. They were operating outside the law, outside of government control. There was no oversight, no one to tell them what they could not do, and no one to stop them if they created another catastrophe like what had happened at Canary Wharf.

Except for him. He somehow didn't think that he'd be in a position to prevent any potential disaster though, not unless he managed to escape without endangering the lives of Sherlock and any of his companions that were alive in this timeline. The Bad Wolf virus had destroyed most of the old Torchwood's files on his companions, but he had no way of knowing how much this Torchwood knew about his friends. It was better to be safe than to escape only to stand over his companions' graves.

He stifled a sigh, that was the problem with taking companions. No matter what he did he always seemed to drag them headlong into danger. Even after they left him, or he left them, it seemed that they were still in danger because of him. He knew he was dangerous, that's why he was traveling alone, but it wouldn't last. He'd meet someone, someone absolutely brilliant and wonderful and so delightfully human, and he'd offer to take them out and see the stars, to experience the universe with him. And, in the end, he would bring them back changed, broken even, if he brought them back at all.

Any further introspection was cut off once they reached today's lab. He was somewhat glad to be jolted out of his increasingly morose thoughts, although it was tempered with a great deal of wariness, especially when he looked around and saw the lab they were in.

It was huge, about the size of a moderately sized warehouse. The entrance was situated on a large balcony, one of several that overlooked the lower floor. The balconies were connected by sturdy looking gangways, placed so that one could move from one balcony to the next easily enough. Each balcony seemed to house a large array of monitoring equipment, a hodgepodge of earth tech and alien tech that would allow the scientists to observe everything that was happening in the floor below.

The lower floor was accessed by a stairway leading from the first balcony. There was a small clear area around the stairs, but, apart from that, the entire room was one gigantic maze, made up of motorized sliding panels so that the entire maze could be changed at will.

While he was cautiously optimistic (there were far worse things that could happen to him than being forced to run through a giant maze) he was also waiting for the other foot to drop.

"Judging from our findings from yesterday, the threat of electric shock is a good motivator for you," Stykes said, a smug grin on his face, "Now, obviously we can't have one of the scientists following you around with a cattle prod today, so I had some of our engineers work on this little beauty."

He picked up an item that had been sitting on a nearby table. It resembled a large, flexible ring made from some sort of durable, slightly rubbery plastic, and, while it looked reasonably innocent, he was rather certain of it's purpose.

"A shock collar?" He asked incredulously, his eyes flashing with anger, "Really?"

"Not just any shock collar," Stykes said proudly, "This collar is made from a durable, light weight, elastic and flexible memory polymer, capable of conforming to the wearers neck, that we have developed after studying the remains of a Nestene Consciousness we recovered. It's also completely waterproof. The electronics within it are just as flexible, and allow us to monitor temperature, blood pressure, heart rate, respiration, blood oxygen levels... you get the idea The information is sent through wi-fi signals to a remote computer system, and can be accessed by any of our computers or handheld devices. Similarly all these devices can access a program which triggers the collar to deliver an electric shock of varying intensity and duration. It is completely tamper-proof, and if the wearer attempts to remove it an intense shock will be delivered, potentially knocking the wearer unconscious if they do not cease the attempt. It is a huge leap forwards in prisoner management."

He raised an eyebrow at Stykes' enthusiasm, "Am I supposed to be impressed? There are far more useful applications of such a polymer than shock collars for human prisoners." he said scathingly.

"Well, they're not intended for human use of course, that would be immoral," Stykes said blithely, "They're designed for aliens."

"Because that's so much better," The Doctor snorted derisively "Aliens don't have rights after all. 'If it's aline, it's ours'."

"No, they don't have rights. There are no laws against abducting aliens, or testing on them. Hell, there are no laws against murdering them either. We could kill you and dump your body in the Thames and no one would be able to do a thing about it!" Stykes threatened.

"There are no human laws against it, no. And I suppose you could dump my body in the Thames if you really wanted to, of course I'd probably just regenerate and come back really mad. Even if I didn't, then you'd have a little thing called the Shadow Proclamation to deal with," He snapped, "Because Torchwood has violated so many laws of the Shadow Proclamation it's not funny. Many of them have half a mind just to wipe this little blue ball off the face of the galaxy, and they'd just love the excuse to do so."

"If this 'Shadow Proclamation' is so powerful, why haven't they acted already?" Stykes snorted, clearly unimpressed.

"Didn't you ever hear about the entire hospital that vanished and then reappeared after a few hours in the middle of London? It was only a few years ago. That was the Judoon, the Shadow Proclamation's thugs. They would have let every single person in that hospital suffocate if they hadn't found the alien fugitive they were looking for. They very nearly did. That was what they did when humans were just innocent bystanders. What do you think they'll do if they rule your planet to be in violation of their laws?" He explained, unable to help from sounding a little condescending.

Stykes frowned dangerously, and the guards shifted threateningly. He tensed, expecting another blow.

"Then why haven't they moved against us already?" Stykes asked, still refusing to believe that anyone had authority over interplanetary law.

"Who do you think's been stopping them?" He asked, raising an eyebrow somewhat playfully.

"Enough," Stykes snapped, thoroughly annoyed, "We're wasting time. Collar him."

The guards moved to obey, and he tensed, his entire being resisting the idea of being collared like an unruly dog. He knew that it was inevitable, even if he fought they could just call in reinforcements, he'd be subdued eventually, but that didn't stop his hearts from beating faster, or his mind from yelling at him to fight or run.

He stepped back a few paces, his entire body stiff as a board, glaring at the guards warily. It made no difference. Two of them grabbed his arms and held him in place while one of them snapped the collar shut around his neck.

The plastic contracted, moving until it fit closely around his neck. It wasn't particularly uncomfortable, and he could still breath and move his neck without difficulty, but the feeling of the collar around his neck was distinctly unpleasant. He supposed it was more the thought of a collar around his neck than the actual feeling; like he was an animal, or a slave.

"Put him in the maze."

"If you go the wrong way," The scientist conducting the experiment explained, "You'll be shocked. If you stop, you'll be shocked. If you are going too slowly, you'll be shocked. If you..."

"Yeah, I get the idea thanks," He said sharply, "If I do anything you don't like, I'll be shocked. Is their anything else I need to be aware of?"

The scientist gritted his teeth, and replied tersely, "No."

"Then I'll be off. Allons-y!" He said cheerfully, trotting off into the maze.

It was strangely pleasant inside the maze, he supposed it was because, apart from the collar around his neck, this was the closest thing he'd had to freedom since he was arrested by the police a few days ago. Even though his captors were still there, he couldn't see them, and, for some strange reason, that cheered him up a bit. He even found himself humming quietly as he trotted along, following a straight path through the maze.

His humming was interrupted as he took a left turn in the maze, only to have the collar activate. His entire body tensed and spasmed, the unexpected jolt causing him to fall over, writhing in pain. He rolled onto his back and glared up at the balcony where all the disturbingly gleeful scientists were gathered. With a sigh he pulled himself up and kept going.

He kept up the trotting pace, not wanting to wear himself out too quickly, but, sadly enough, it was still draining his pitifully limited reserves.

Every time he took a wrong turn, he was shocked. The shocks were painful to say the least, and each time he stood he felt a little weaker. He was trying to follow the mazes pattern, but the shocks were disorientating, so every time he made a mistake he became even more confused.

Slow down, think. He told himself, trying to visualize the entire maze in his head, thinking five turns ahead. He almost slowed to a stop at some points, focusing on his mental map rather than anything else.

Eventually, after seven wrong turns and three shocks for going to slow, he made it to the other end of the maze.

Even though he hadn't been going particularly fast he still felt a little out of breath. He hadn't really recovered from the last two days tests yet, and, at the rate the scientists were pushing him, he wasn't going to recover any time soon.

Before he could completely catch his breath, the maze had been changed once more.

"Begin again," The scientist ordered in a tone that brooked no argument, "Faster this time."

With a sigh he trotted into the maze once more, trying to force himself to go faster without making any mistakes.

Needless to say he made mistakes. Each shock felt like a thousand knives dancing over his skin, or perhaps a few hundred hungry ants biting at him. Each time he was nearly knocked off his feat. Sometimes he fell, and had to haul himself up once more, but at last he completed the second maze.

Again, there was very little time to rest before he was shoved back into the maze, moving even faster, and again, and again, each maze more complex, each time going a little faster, until he was sprinting headlong into the maze with no clue which direction to go.

The world had become a blur of left and right turns, his mind racing through the maze as surely as his body. The maze was everything. Run run run. Left, left, right, shock, straight, left, Shock, right, right, left, right, left. Out of the maze. Rest. Back into the maze. No time to stop, have to get through the maze again. Think, think, think. Come on, you're smarter than this, you're better than this, run!

Still he kept running, solving the maze as he fought for breath, falling from the strength of the jolt when he failed. Each time he got a little better, a little faster, a little smarter, his mind going into overdrive.

The first maze had taken him four minutes and thirty-five seconds, the second made took him four-minutes and twenty seven seconds. Four minutes and fifteen seconds, four minutes and six second, three minutes and fifty eight seconds, three minutes and forty two seconds... endless mazes on repeat.

Time flew by, minutes and hours of it, passing as he ran, thought, hurled himself at the maze, fighting it. He had to beat it, he needed to beat it.

The collapse was inevitable. After five hours, twenty seven minutes and three seconds his body just could not take anymore.

As he reached the center of the sixty-seventh maze his legs collapsed out from underneath him. So focused on the maze that he didn't understand what was happening, he tried to stand, tried to avoid the shock that he knew was coming, but his legs wouldn't obey him.

The shock burned and tore like it always did, but he couldn't do more than wriggle painfully. It left him panting and shaking, and he knew he needed to get up, but his body had finally had enough.

Three shocks later he was barely able to keep his head up. A voice came across the speakers, "Get up. We won't warn you again."

He chuckled weakly, gasping for air, and shook his head with a hopeless expression. He didn't know if they could hear him, but it was worth a shot.

"I can't get up," he said, his voice strained and verging on hysteria, "Can't move my legs, can barely even keep my head up. The whole thing's kaput. You can shock me as much as you want, I'll probably just lie here and pass out like yesterday."

He chuckled again, trying, and failing, to get himself back under control. It wasn't easy, for all his inhuman strength of mind and will he was beginning to fall apart at the seams, the strain was driving him into the ground. Not just the strain of being a captive, that was normal enough, but the weight of everything that he carried around on his to thin shoulders.

Being a renegade, the last of his kind, the destroyer of his own race, the only thing standing between the universe and destruction. Being alone, being a danger to those around him, everyone leaving or dying or forgetting or choosing someone else, losing everything.

Because he did, he lost everything, his family, his friends, his home, his planet, for Rassilon's sake his whole planet! And, in the end, what good did it do? The Daleks still showed up like the proverbial bad pennies, planets still waged war on each other, people still died, he had to bring the universe itself back from the brink of destruction every few years. And for what?

What did he get, in the end? What was his reward for all his work. He saved everyone, but who was there to save him? Wouldn't it be easier to just sit back and let the universe sort out it's own damned problems? Why should he care? Why should he fight?

His shoulders shook with suppressed laughter, he had to laugh, or he'd cry. And if he cried, what sort of Time Lord was he?

The guards found him like that, slumped against the wall shaking with bitter, hysterical mirth. As they hauled him to his feet his vision swam dangerously, almost graying out. He was tempted to give in and allow himself to fall unconscious, but he forced himself to get a grip, clamping down strongly on the laughter that still threatened to bubble over.

He swayed dangerously as he stood, and, the moment he tried to take a step, he pitched downwards and would have ended up on the ground again if one of the guards hadn't begrudgingly gripped his arm to prevent that.

"Walk." The guard said tersely.

"I can't," he sighed, "I'm not just saying that, I actually can't move, which, considering I've been running though this damned maze four five hours, thirty one minutes and fifty two second isn't all that surprising. On the upside, I didn't pass out this time."

"How is that an upside?" Another guard asked sourly.

"Well..." he breathed, wincing at the first guard picked him up like a rag doll, "It means you get to enjoy my shining personality for a few moments longer. Look, we're all having fun."

It was hard to tell, but he thought he saw the second guards lips wobble a bit in a suppressed smirk. A victory then.

His vision tried to gray out again as they carried him out of the maze, but he clung to consciousness firmly. He could pass out when he was in his own cell.

Getting up the stair was an adventure, he felt himself wobbling precariously in the guard's hold and really hoping he wasn't about to get dropped. That would be highly unpleasant. His entire body already ached, a combination of leftover pain from yesterday, the residual pain of numerous electric shocks and the all consuming fatigue that was now plaguing his body. Getting dropped would be a very bad idea.

At last they made it to the relative safety of the balcony. He supposed he was grateful to the guard for not dropping him, after all, it wasn't the guards making him do these awful tests, they were just guarding him... making sure he didn't escape... taking him into the labs... shoving him into the maze... dropping him into a tank of water... actually, those guys were jerks.

Stykes was looking at him like he was dirt on his shoe, "Given up already?" He asked condescendingly.

If he had the energy, he would have said something equally scathing back, but every inch of his body ached and he just wanted to fall into blissful unconsciousness, so he decided to keep his mouth shut for a change.

Sensing that he wouldn't get a response from his prisoner, Stykes sighed, "Take him back to his cell."

The guard complied, slinging him none to gently over his shoulder and moving through the corridors back to the cell. The journey passed in a blur of motion, every step jolting painfully, but at last they arrived at the cell, and he was dropped gracelessly onto his mattress, the air leaving his lungs with an 'Oof' sound.

The guards left without a word, and he sighed with relief, allowing his head to fall backwards and stretching out his abused frame as much as he could.

"Well," a voice said dryly from across, "At least you're awake this time."

Sherlock's casual tone was belied by the way he was carefully cataloguing his condition, taking in every little detail to paint an unpleasant picture.

"What was the test today?" He asked curiously, "Obviously something to do with running."

"Obviously," He replied with as much good humor as he could force into his voice, "Today it was a giant maze. There was no cheese however, which was a shame, because I like cheese. I suppose lab rats get all the dairy products though."

"Now," he said, his vision swimming again, "If you don't mind, I'm going to pass out now."

And he did so.

a/n: Sorry again that this took so long to post, but, on the plus side, it turned out to be a nice long chapter.