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Peace negotiations had gone poorly. To put it simply: they’d thrown him into the river. It wasn’t his first, second, or third time. But there was only so long he could... and it was deep and fast and he couldn’t go back and sometimes he just wanted to close his eyes, generally, but that was a wider problem not for right now-
-He knew it was The Doctor. He didn’t care how he knew, he had only come here because this planet had a fantastic black market and of course. Of course The Doctor would be there, right there, in the river. He frowned. Squinted. (The Doctor lying there, on the water, face-down.) Paced the bank. (No movement.) It would be good if The Doctor died, obviously. (The water, over him, no movement.) He inhaled. (The water.) But The Doctor could not die without seeing his face one last-
-He gasped. Shaking, trembling, a hand on his back. His ears were popping, he was freezing and his lungs were burning. His teeth chattered. The hand left his back. Then hit him firm, then he spluttered. Water, water forced its’ way up and out. He coughed. And the hand hit his back, hard, and he coughed again and again until his throat was raw. He rolled his head down onto the grass, and the toe of a leather shoe propped him up. He tried to lift his neck and-
-He cupped The Doctors’ face, the glossy eyes not quite focusing on him, head sinking into his palm. “Doctor?” He got a mumbled response, incoherent, heavy breaths. The Doctor shivered and he caved, pulling the man toward his chest, holding him tight. Listening as his breathing steadied, as his hearts stabilised, as he dropped into sl-