With steady fingers, Silander closes the book full of still more pages and groans; no wonder the Doctor couldn’t help Hainish. He was in the coma after hitting his head in his upsettedness, because he’d realized… that he would never be able to help that poor boy before he’d even sent him on his way.
Because he’d sent him on his way.
“Oh yes, I play quite well now, even do a little composing in his honour. Of course, the violin doesn’t like me much anymore…” Pasmodius says softly, as he runs his gnarled hand over Silander’s suddenly freezing shoulder, pressing into the extra nerve bundle and rendering him paralyzed. “I hope you like the third movement; it’s my favorite. You see, it’s the part where the Doctor gets to meet her. He’s close to giving birth, down there in Rassilon’s cramped little bunker- he needs someone to look after him, as he’s in no fit state to do so for himself, you see. Such a good thing that I’m here… to take –care- of him.”
Then the old man’s raspy laughter fills the room like the popping of a balloon as he clasps his fingers around Silander’s throat and slowly brings his fingers closer…