Title: Too Many Questions
By: angstytimelord
Pairing: Tenth Doctor/Michael Cutter
Fandom: Doctor Who/Law & Order
Rating: R
Table: 100_tales
Prompt: 66, Pain
Disclaimer: This is entirely a product of my own imagination, and I make no profit from it. I do not own the Tenth Doctor or Michael Cutter, unfortunately. Please do not sue.

***

Michael closed his eyes, trying not to make a sound. It was hard not to, though. It felt as though pain was radiating through every fiber of his body, and he had to force himself not to whimper when one of the men surrounding him moved to stand in front of his face.

He didn't want to know what else they were going to do to him. Judging from the way he felt, he must be bleeding from at least half a dozen different areas of his body; he could feel the blood trickling down the side of his face, oozing from a split lip, caked on his inner thighs.

Forcing himself to be quiet, he waited for the next kick, the next blow, the explosion of further pain. But it didn't come; instead, the men around him merely laughed, and he could sense them backing off, leaving him lying there on the cold concrete floor.

He had no idea where he was -- it looked like a warehouse of some sort, which could mean that he was anywhere in New York City. And he was quite sure that his abductors hadn't left a clue as to where he could be found.

What did they intend to do with him? Kill him and leave his body here, not caring if he'd be found until he was half-decomposed? Or did they plan to give his colleagues some way to find him when they were done with him? He wished he knew.

And John .... had they found John? Was the man he loved in the same position that he was -- a helpless captive, not knowing from one moment to the next if he'd survive to see any of the people he cared for again? He sincerely hoped not.

Michael could hear his captors moving off, a door slamming in the distance. He lifted his head a fraction of an inch, forcing his eyes open; all he could see was the dim room around him, the dank gloom not affording him more than a murky vision of where he was.

He closed his eyes again, turning his head so that his cheek pressed against the concrete. If only he could loosen the ropes that bound his hands and get himself free .... He'd already tried that, countless times. It was impossible.

They could at least have left him a little modesty, he thought, his breath hissing through his teeth as he tried to move his bound legs into a more comfortable position. There'd been no need to leave him half-naked, his pants around his ankles and his lower body exposed.

But they'd gotten a laugh out of that, he told himself bitterly. He didn't know who they were; they'd all worn ski masks, and he hadn't recognized a voice. But they'd known who he was, and they'd enjoyed violating him.

It was a sure bet that they'd had something to do with one of the cases he'd convicted. There'd be no other reason for this to have happened. He'd always known that his job involved some degree of danger, but he'd never expected anything like this.

He'd been careless, somehow. Maybe he'd been thinking about John, about going home to spend the night with his lover, and not watching the area around him more carefully. If he'd been more alert, more vigilant, he'd be at home with John now.

Not here, his body aching and exposed, his face pressed against a cold floor, not knowing what was going to happen to him.

If he was brutally honest with himself, he'd never been so terrified in his entire life. Not even when he'd been pushed down on his stomach on the floor and his pants yanked down, and he'd realized with dawning horror what they intended to do to him.

The pain that had ripped through him was worse than anything he'd ever felt before; Michael hadn't thought he would survive it. In fact, he had passed out once or twice -- at least, he thought he had. He couldn't really be sure of anything.

All he could be sure of was that those men would come back. They might be giving him a reprieve for the moment, but he knew that it wouldn't last. He had to find a way to get out of here -- or he had to hope and pray that someone would find him.

Who was he kidding? There was no way out. He couldn't struggle free; he'd already established that fact several times over. The gag in his mouth kept him from screaming for help -- and it wasn't as though anyone would hear him, anyway.

He was fairly sure that he'd been brought here because the place was abandoned, far away from anyone who might be able to rescue him. All he could do was hope. Hope that his colleagues were making some headway, that they might have an idea of where he was.

That was a vain hope. He had a better chance of John knowing where he was and finding him than the police; his kidnappers would have made sure that they didn't leave any leads behind for the police to pick up on.

John came into his thoughts again, his breath catching in his throat. No, he couldn't hope that John would find him. That would put his beloved right in the middle of this -- and if anything happened to John because of him, he would never be able to forgive himself.

What was John going to do if .... Michael didn't want to think about the possibility of dying, but he knew that it wasn't something he could avoid. There was a very good chance that he wouldn't make it out of here alive.

Tears came to his eyes at the thought of John being alone; his lover had admitted to him a few times that being alone for the rest of his life was his greatest fear, and that he'd always been a lonely man. Those words had been heartbreaking.

He didn't want to think of the man he loved being alone; he wanted John to be happy, even more than he wanted to live. If only he could live through this, to see John smile again, to know that the man he loved was safe and that he was all right.

He'd just have to hang on to the belief that John was safe, that the police had talked to him and were keeping him protected. They might not have been able to protect him, but they could surely protect his lover.

Michael raised his head slightly, squinting in the dimness of the warehouse and shifting his body a little. Even that small movement made him groan; there didn't seem to be any part of his body that didn't hurt like hell.

Was this how it felt for John when they .... No, of course not. What had been done to him was completely different from what he and John did when they made love.

Every sound made his muscles tense; even the ordinary sounds that he would expect to hear around an old building took on a sinister meaning. When would those men be coming back? They wouldn't stay gone for long, he was sure of it.

What if they'd gone after John? Michael's lips trembled under the gag, as though he was silently mouthing a prayer to keep his lover safe. He could deal with whatever might be done to him, as long as John was safe and unharmed.

Maybe he was in protective custody at this moment -- maybe he'd been taken somewhere that those men wouldn't be able to find him. Michael was fairly sure that if they'd known when he was leaving the office, they would know that John was spending time at his apartment.

They could have had the two of them under surveillance for weeks .... he squeezed his eyes shut, not wanting to let his thoughts continue in the direction they were going. John was safe. He had to believe that.

If only there was some way for him to free himself, struggle to his feet, pull his clothes back into place, and get himself out of here. But there wasn't. There was no use wishing for what couldn't be. Better if he concentrated his thoughts on John's safety.

Michael winced as he tried to move his wrists behind his back; they were numbed, almost to the point where he couldn't feel them any more. Well, at least that was better than feeling the stabbing pain that seemed to have settled in the lower part of his body.

John had told him once at the beginning of their relationship that he was a doctor .... hadn't he? He couldn't remember what the other man's exact words had been. But if he was, his talent could be put to use when they were reunited.

If that happened, Michael added silently, closing his eyes again. He might not ever see John again. He might never make it out of here alive -- and the next time his lover saw him could be in an open coffin at his funeral.

All these things that might happen -- or might not happen. Too many questions, too many "what ifs." Michael couldn't answer any of them; all he could do was lie here and hope that he'd be found before it was too late.

Was it his imagination, or was that the sound of a door being opened, metal letting out a low screech as it scraped against concrete? Michael drew a breath that sounded more like a gasp. Only a few more moments, and they'd be back for another round.

***