Work Text:
"Don't touch me!" the Doctor's words are slurred as she lashes out. Her hand connects with someone, hard enough to hear a grunt, and her blurry vision swims to seek them out as they stumble back. Whoever has a hold on her other newly freed wrist releases it as she collapses to the floor, curling away from them.
Like through miles of water, she hears someone say, "Doctor? It's us, we're here to…" Her blood rushes in her ears, too loud to understand another word.
One of them puts a hand on her shoulder, and she warned them. The unwanted touch burns into her skin, and her heavy limbs keep her from hitting as hard as she wants to. The sound they make pierces through the fog in her head.
That's a Yaz Noise.
Friends. Not more—Her mind skims over the word scientists to protect her.—captors here to drug her, poke at her, cut her open. "I'm sorry," she says, "don't touch me." She can't move out of their reach like she normally would, so she pleads with them to understand. She can't see their expressions. The room spins too much. She hopes they don't ask questions later.