"Doctor Who" is the BBC's property. I intend no infringement. This is a sequel to "Bedside Manners."
There is a particularly sweltering road that is paved with good intentions, or so the saying goes. The Doctor felt as though he had traversed this fiery path at least a dozen times since Rose had recovered from her illness. Just as he'd told her, the medication he'd given her had cured the disease in a few hours' time. But, contrary to what he'd told himself, he hadn't got around to evaluating her condition any further.
He'd intended to slip into her room at night and run a scan or two with one of the portable devices from the infirmary. He'd instructed the TARDIS to alter her gentle hum and lull Rose into deep sleep. That accomplished, he'd actually crept into her bedroom with the scanner for the past three nights, but each effort was thwarted.
The first night he'd stood at her door, watching her sleep. Her face was relaxed, lips parted slightly and cheeks pink with the warmth from her comforter. She'd looked so lovely—soft, rosy, and utterly human. Perhaps he was a bit distracted as he took a step toward the bed, because his foot caught her small rubbish bin and it clattered against the dresser.
Rose stirred, eyelids fluttering, and he quickly stepped back out into the corridor. Her slumber should've been deep enough to keep her asleep even in the presence of a noise or two; the TARDIS should've seen to that. But the ship hadn't, and he hesitated to return until he knew that Rose wouldn't wake. He padded softly down the hallway, silently chiding himself for his cowardice.
He should just take Rose's arm first thing in the morning and escort her to the infirmary, where he could run the necessary scans and obtain the needed information. But he vacillated; he didn't know how she'd react. She'd been less than enthusiastic in permitting him to examine her when she knew that she was sick. He worried that she'd resist any further evaluation if she didn't know the reason for it. And he wasn't about to tell her his suspicions, because she might be angry at him for exposing her to whatever it was that had affected her. He was reticent to face that potential anger.
So he resolved that he would run the scan on the second night. Again he asked the TARDIS to create the soothing hum that would nudge Rose into heavy slumber. And again he walked quietly down the corridor to her doorway. This time he made it to her bedside without creating any noise. However, just as he was switching on the scanner, her eyes flew open and she gaped at him in the dimness.
"What're you doin' in here?" she asked, voice husky from sleep.
He had the perfect opportunity to tell her the truth. She couldn't be angry at him for feeling concern—could she? He held up the scanner and opened his mouth.
The words tumbled out of their own accord. "I thought you cried out—I was afraid you'd had a nightmare."
She frowned, trying to remember if she'd been dreaming, then her lips curved into a smile. "Don't think so, but thanks, Doctor. That's sweet."
He tried not to bristle at being called 'sweet'. He didn't have time to, anyway, as her gaze shifted to the scanner in his hand.
"What's that?" she asked.
Again, the ideal opportunity for truth was staring at him, screeching in his ear, in fact, and again his words tumbled out. "Oh, it's a scanner—I was going to check some of the electrical connections in the console."
Damn, what was the matter with him? He gave his head a hard shake. He'd faced Daleks, Sycorax, Slytheen, Gelth, megalomaniacs, and monsters with barely a flinch, but he couldn't admit to one little human that maybe, just maybe, he'd exposed her to something that was making her just a bit less human…
"You all right?" she was asking him, concern on her face. She reached for his hand, and he thought that her skin felt cool, cooler than it should, although by only half a degree or so.
He dropped the scanner into his pocket and clasped her hand in both of his. He positioned one hand so that his fingertip rested surreptitiously over the pulse point on her wrist, noting that the beat was a bit fast, particularly for a human who'd been resting.
He tried to smile, hoping it didn't resemble a grimace too much. "Fine, Rose. Sorry I woke you. Go back to sleep."
"You gonna sleep tonight?" she asked with just a hint of concern in her voice.
"No, I don't think so."
"Maybe you should. You look a little tired."
He nodded. "Maybe."
As she settled back beneath the covers, he walked out of her room. He couldn't return tonight; she expected him to be sleeping. And besides, he needed to check the console, because clearly something was amiss with the TARDIS. She wasn't able to draw Rose into deep sleep, and he needed that, the sooner the better.
The Doctor spent most of the third night beneath the console. He had examined nearly every connection and function and could find nothing wrong. Yet obviously something was, because when he slipped into Rose's room toward the end of the night she was half-awake. He could tell from the disheveled covers and tousled hair that she hadn't slept well; she'd been tossing and turning all night long. It seemed that his ship was having precisely the opposite effect on her that he'd requested. He paused for only a moment to peek inside the room then turned away.
"Doctor?"
Her voice stopped him.
"You out there?" she asked.
He considered remaining perfectly still, but if she happened to get up and see him she surely wonder why he was skulking about in the hallway near her bedroom.
"Yep," he finally answered with forced cheer. He poked his head inside and grinned at her.
She was sitting up, and hand covering her yawning mouth. "I wasn't dreamin' this time," she said.
He gave her a quizzical look until he recalled how he'd explained his presence the previous night. "No? Well, I suppose that's good—no nightmares, at least. I didn't mean to wake you. I was just heading toward the library. Shoes must be a little squeaky. Sorry." He lifted a foot and pretended to examine the sole of his sneaker.
Rose stretched and swung her legs over the side of the bed. "'S okay. I wasn't sleepin' very well anyway. Might as well get up. I could use a cuppa."
He lowered his foot and looked up her. This was the right time; she'd just given him the ideal opening to inquire about her well-being. "Are you having trouble sleeping?" he asked, and he didn't need to muster any of his latent thespian skills to infuse his voice with concern.
She shook her head. "No, not really. I've been sleepin' really well, actually, except for tonight. Think it was that chocolate bar I ate just before I went to bed."
Before he could formulate a good response, she'd disappeared into the bathroom. As she closed the door, she called, "Know any good seaside resorts? I could really go for some good fish an' chips, an' I don't feel like the icky frozen kind."
He heard the shower start and took that as his cue to leave. He patted at the scanner in his pocket then gave it a firm squeeze. Right. He'd take Rose for a nice stroll on a pretty boardwalk, fill her with fried food and maybe a pint or two, then bring her straight back to the infirmary. No hesitation, no hedging—he'd just do it, consequences be damned. After all, it was for her own good, and in the end she couldn't hate him for that. Could she?
Mentally chastising the TARDIS was probably not the most practical use of his brilliant mind when he was lying on a dusty floor with his hands tied behind his back and a massive foot pressed against his neck. His thoughts might have turned to why he always seemed to end up in these situations—separated from Rose within minutes after stepping out of the ship into the shabby, lawless town, then summarily knocked over the head, trussed up, and in danger of having his neck broken. He surmised that it was some sort of kidnapping attempt, probably prompted by the relative cleanliness and quality of his clothing.
If the brute standing above him was anything to judge standards by, the Doctor's attire and general hygiene were about ten cuts above the rest of the townspeople. The boot at his neck was filthy and worn, with holes along both sides. He could catch a glimpse of an equally filthy foot inside, its owner's lack of cleanliness pungently punctuated by the dreadful stench seeping from the boot. If the pressure on his neck didn't kill him, it was quite possible that the smell would.
Just why the TARDIS had landed in this woefully unpleasant and dangerous place he didn't know. He'd found no glitches, no malfunctions, nothing at all to explain what was wrong with her. But clearly she was on the fritz.
His thoughts turned to Rose. He had no idea where she was, but he hoped that she'd made it back to the ship. She'd be safe inside. Even when disabled, the TARDIS remained impenetrable when the doors were securely closed.
But she was Rose—plucky, fearless, and brimming with spirit. So when the door creaked open and he heard light steps on the wooden floor, he wasn't surprised to lift his eyes and find her standing a few feet from his captor. She was utterly indignant, angry and worried for him. She was also ready to do something about it.
She demanded that the thug release her friend, but the man simply laughed in her face and dismissed her as just a weak little girl. He didn't know that twenty first-century Earth women, particularly those of the Tyler ilk, were anything but feeble or passive. He couldn't possibly understand the loyalty and devotion she felt toward the Doctor, either, but there it was, plain as day, and it was coalescing into one hell of a right hook
It must've been in her genes, he thought: like mother, like daughter.Her mum'd slapped him without a second thought, and he really hadn't even deserved it. So as the Doctor watched Rose clench her hand into a fist and pull back her arm, he wasn't particularly surprised. Concerned, yes, and anxious and ready to caution her against the rash yet much appreciated action—but surprised? No, he'd always known she had it in her.
The next few seconds seemed to stretch into an elongated and elaborate production in which he became acutely aware of the situation and the inevitable consequences. He could feel the tread of man's sole against his skin, and he could sense the pressure increasing. He could also see Rose's furious face and the arc of her arm as it swung at the man's jaw. He would, of course, be caught unaware, as his attention was focused on the prisoner beneath him rather than on the small yet angry young woman standing before him.
The Doctor really did want to tell her to stop, to warn her that hitting this brute wasn't exactly a good idea, but the pressure against his spine was growing, and there was a possibility, albeit a small one, that the booted foot could do some real damage if it slammed his head against the ground.
So he watched in morbid fascination as Rose's little fist shot through the air and connected rather spectacularly with the man's jaw. He heard a crunch and winced, hoping that the source was the man and not his companion. The pressure lifted from his neck immediately, and he heard a loud, solid thud. He lifted his head to see his captor sprawled on the floor on the other side of the room. The opposite wall had obviously stopped his movement as Rose's punch sent him reeling back, or possibly flying through the air. Hadn't the foot been pulled up sharply as it left his neck?
It took the Doctor just a moment to hoist himself onto his feet, but in those few seconds the man, roused by rage, had stumbled to his feet and reached for Rose's arm to restrain her. She'd made the mistake of standing still after she'd hit him rather than backing away immediately. She probably didn't have much experience with this sort of thing, so the Doctor really couldn't blame her. Still, he wasn't sure that he could reach her in time.
And then again the seconds seemed to slow to hours as he shouted a warning and pounded across the floor, ripping his wrists from the ropes with a few hard, painful twists. He saw the man's huge fist slam into Rose's face, watched her fall back, arms flailing unsuccessfully even as she tried to shield herself from the next blow.
The man was almost on top of her when the Doctor reached him. A hand at the cad's collar pulled him away, and three fingers at the base of his skull rendered him unconscious. The Time Lord shoved the limp body aside and knelt next to Rose.
"You all right?" he asked.
Her eyes were wide, mouth agape for an instant, then a hand flew to her cheek. She required four or five seconds to respond to him, but when she did, her answer made him smile.
"Are you?"
"Yep, thanks to you." He was already taking her arm, pulling her up.
"But we should get out of here. Don't want to be around when he wakes up. I don't think he appreciated your efforts as much as I did."
She stumbled a little, so he wrapped his arm around her waist. She'd been hit hard. The Doctor had to suppress the urge to deliver a very solid kick to the man's midsection as they walked by his prone form. The only thing that stopped him, really, was the odd concavity on the brute's face; Rose's blow had shattered his cheekbone.
They left the building and walked out onto the dusty street. He looked at the unfamiliar surroundings then pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket. He switched it on. The readings showed that the TARDIS lay about two kilometers to the west. His kidnapper must've carried him quite a distance.
He'd left Rose for just a few minutes after they'd landed, just to have a look down an alleyway where he'd heard a noise, when he'd been nabbed. Somehow she'd found him, and now he was safe—at least for the moment.
"Don't think there's time to get back to the TARDIS," he told her as they stumbled along the crumbling sidewalk.
His gaze roved quickly over the possibilities for sanctuary. There were a few stores and bars, but those certainly wouldn't do. At the end of the street, however, he saw a church. It was a nearly universal tenet that places of worship were sacrosanct; holy men and women almost always offered shelter to those seeking it. He hoped that was the case here. He really had no other choice. He knew that the moment this captor awoke he'd pursue them, and it was likely that he'd enlist a few equally unsavory friends.
Rose was quiet, and when he glanced down at her he saw that her head was lowered; she seemed to be focusing her efforts on her steps. Well, that was to be expected. She was surely shaken from the encounter with the kidnapper.
Keeping his arm around her, he hurried toward the church. It was a large, solid stone building with a heavy wooden door. He lifted the latch and pushed open the portal. Immediately he felt the cool air from inside, a stark contrast to the hot, dry atmosphere on the street.
He guided Rose inside then shut the door behind them. A solid looking bolt was attached to the back of the door, and he slid it into place before steering her up the aisle. He could feel her leaning heavily against him; she needed to sit down as soon as possible.
He eased her down into a pew then took a few moments to look around. The church was much like any other with an altar set upon a dais at the front and rows of wooden seats lining the aisles. Well, at least they'd be safe here for a little while—he hoped.
He was just turning back to Rose when he heard a door open. His eyes shot to the main doorway, but the bolt was still in place. A man clad in robes was walking between the pews; he'd emerged from a door at the side of nave.
"There aren't any formal services today," he said rather wearily, "but of course you're welcome to worship silently as long as you like."
Rose was hunched over in the pew. The Doctor gave her shoulder a gentle squeeze then took a few steps toward the priest.
"Thank you," he said.
The priest's gaze shifted from the visitors to the door. "Did you do that?" he asked, pointing toward the bolt.
"Sorry, we had no choice," the Doctor replied quickly. "We need sanctuary."
"Sanctuary?" The priest seemed to contemplate the word for several
seconds. "Yes, of course. But it would help me to know why."
"We're visitors, just passing through, and I'm afraid that one of the local citizens thought I'd be worth something to someone. I am, but not the way he thought. Thanks to Rose," he cocked an eyebrow toward her, "we got away, but I don't think we made any friends along the way."
The priest shook his head sadly. "I'm very sorry, sir. These are difficult times, and some people have become desperate... it's no excuse." He clasped his hands anxiously. "But you can't remain here."
"It's just for a little while," the Doctor began.
"No, you may not be safe here. Please, come with me."
He turned toward the door by which he'd entered. Rose stood and grasped the Doctor's outstretched hand as they followed their host down a long hallway then into a small room. They found a little writing table and chair and a small sofa in the center of the chamber. Bookshelves lined the walls.
"You'll be safe in here," the priest told them.
"Thank you," said the Doctor.
He glanced at Rose to encourage her to offer her gratitude, too. He hadn't had a good look at her while they were hurrying away from the warehouse, but now his eyes widened slightly as he saw the blood on her cheek. She'd had her hand over it before. She'd lowered her arm and was cradling her right hand in her left.
"You're hurt," he said softly.
"'M okay," she replied.
He turned back to the priest. "I'm sorry to trouble you, but—"
"Of course. I'll bring you our medical supplies." The priest gave a brief nod then stepped back out into the hallway.
The Doctor took Rose's arm rather gingerly and guided her toward the sofa. He slipped on his glasses then tilted up her chin. Blood was smeared over her cheekbone, so he couldn't judge the extent of the damage easily.
"How's the hand?" he asked.
She shrugged. "Hurts a little."
He arched an eyebrow at her. "Just a little?"
"Just a lot," she amended.
He took her hand in his and carefully felt about. "Nothing's broken," he told her. "You're lucky. You have no idea how many people fracture a bone or two from throwing a punch. And by the way, yours was pretty impressive. Have I thanked you for that?"
"Yeah, but feel free to do it again." She offered him a little grin but winced at the pain this brought to her cheek.
The priest returned then, carrying a basin in his hands and a small leather satchel beneath his arm. He set the items on the desk.
"I hope this will be sufficient," he said. He removed several flannels from the pocket of his cassock and held them out to the Doctor.
"Thank you," the Time Lord said. "We appreciate it."
"My order has some medical training. Would you like me to see to her?"
The Doctor smiled gratefully. "As it happens, I have some medical training, too. I suppose we haven't been introduced. I'm the Doctor."
He extended his hand. "And this is Rose."
"Doctor, Rose." The priest shook the Doctor's hand warmly. "I'm Father Marris. Please let me know if there is anything else that you need."
The Doctor had already opened the little satchel and begun inspecting the contents.
"Would you have any ice?" he asked.
The priest nodded then left, shutting the door as he did.
Rose was touching her cheek. "How bad is it?" she asked, studying the blood on her fingers for a moment.
The Doctor dipped a flannel into the cool water in the basin then gently wiped it over her cheek. He leaned in to study the wound, pressing his fingertips lightly around the gash.
"Oh, it's not so bad," he said cheerfully. "About fifteen seconds with the dermal regenerator and you'll be good as new."
Father Marris returned with a bowl of ice, which he set on the desk. "I'm going to close the door, and you should lock it behind me," he said. "There's some commotion outside the church, and I've got a feeling it may have to do with you."
"It usually does," Rose muttered.
"Thank you," the Doctor told the priest then secured the bolt after the cleric shut the door.
He wrapped several ice cubes in one of the flannels and returned to Rose's side to rest the cold bundle carefully over her cheek. He sat down beside her.
Rose's gaze had moved down to her hand. She flexed her fingers and winced.
"Probably best to keep it still for now," he told her.
She looked up and him, and her eyes were large. "I hit him," she said dully.
The Doctor nodded. "Yes, you did," he agreed gently. It was all sinking in now…
"No, that's not what I mean. I hit him, an' he went flyin' across the room. He was huge. I didn't think I'd even knock him over."
He watched her carefully. Her brow was tight, and she was biting at her lower lip.
"How'd I do that?" she asked softly. "I shouldn't've been able to do that."
"How did it feel?"
She shook her head. "I dunno. Like there was some sorta power in me—somethin' I wasn't expectin', but it was just there."
"Rose." He lowered the ice pack from her cheek and set it aside so that he could place his hands upon her shoulders. "I think there's something different about you—something that's affected your body and the way it works."
"It's given me strength," she said. "More than I should have—more than anyone my size should have."
He nodded. "Yes."
She blinked, and he could see tears forming in her eyes. "What is it? What's happened to me?"
"I don't know," he replied honestly. "But as soon as we return to the TARDIS we'll find out."
"Is it…" she hesitated, and a tear slid down her cheek. "Is it dangerous?"
He brushed his thumb over the damp trail. "I'm not sure. But whatever it is, we'll deal with it. All right?" He gave her a reassuring smile then enveloped her in a hug.
Father Marris returned a short time later. He informed the visitors that the activity outside had died down. He offered to take them back to their "transportation" in his own vehicle; they could hide in the back in case he was stopped, although it was unlikely that anyone would molest a holy man.
The ride back to the TARDIS was thankfully uneventful. After offering their sincere thanks to the priest, Rose and the Doctor stepped inside the ship. He secured the door then led her to the infirmary.
"Are we stayin' here?" Rose asked as they left the console room. "Thought you'd wanna get outta here as soon as possible."
"TARDIS is acting up—something's the matter, and until I sort it I don't want to risk any more trips. But we're safe in here. Nothing can get inside."
She gave him a questioning look, but he reassured her.
"You're my priority now," he said. "There'll be time to deal with her later." He gave the nearest wall an affectionate, though semi-stern, tap.
True to his word, the Doctor repaired the cut on Rose's cheek in less than thirty seconds, then he ran a tissue regenerator over her hand. The swelling receded quickly, and he could tell from the way she moved her fingers that the pain was gone, too.
Those small tasks finished, he picked up the as-yet-unused scanner and switched it on. Rose sat quietly, hands clasped tightly in her lap, as he ran the device slowly and carefully over her entire body. Tiny lights blinked and flickered, providing some information for him, but he needed the complete analysis to be sure. He gave her a quick, reassuring smile then slid the scanner into a slot on one of the diagnostic computers. He tapped a few keys then turned back to Rose.
"Well?" she asked. "What's it tell you?"
"Give it a minute," he replied. "The data has to be downloaded and analyzed."
"What d'you think it is?" she persisted. "I mean, you must have some ideas."
"Honestly, Rose, it could be any number of things—"
"But some're bad, right?"
"Let's not jump to conclusions," he said, keeping his voice steady for her benefit. Of course he'd leaped to a hundred dire conclusions in his own mind already.
Neither spoke much again until the computer emitted a little beep. The Time Lord turned toward the screen, slipping on his glasses to study the writing scrolling before him.
"Oh God, what is it?" Rose asked. She'd seen the swirls of Gallifreyan text and didn't know how to interpret it.
"It's just my native language," he told her; his tone was sharper than he'd intended. He waved a hand at her the returned his attention to the screen. "Give me a few seconds…"
His eyes moved over the text, then over it again. Finally he exhaled a long-held breath then turned back to her.
"What?" she asked, trying to read the expression on his face.
He took her hands in his. "Rose," he began, "it's a kind of radiation."
"Oh God, that's bad."
He squeezed her hand gently. "Well, in most cases it is. But I'm not sure I can make a judgment call here."
She frowned quizzically and opened her mouth to inquire further, but he continued before she could speak.
"The type of radiation you find on Earth is harmful. It weakens and damages living tissue. But what I've found in you—which, by the way is a very, very tiny amount—is a different sort. It alters the cells, strengthening them, making them more efficient."
"So it's not bad?"
"Bad is a relative term. If you consider something that changes your body without your knowledge or permission bad, then yes, it is. But if you consider something that makes you stronger good, then I think we need to use a less negative term."
"So what're you sayin'? Is this hurtin' me or not?"
"I'd say it's not, except that it is a form of radiation, and I don't like the idea that there could be long-term effects. So I'd like to remove it from you."
"Yeah, of course."
"You don't mind? Because when I do your cells will revert back to the way they were."
Rose pulled one hand from his and lifted it, making a fist. "I think I can give up bein' Rocky Balboa."
He smiled in approval. He'd hoped she'd feel that way… And she wasn't angry; she hadn't reacted as he'd feared. But then she hadn't asked the critical question yet.
As he turned toward one of the counters to remove a vial from the drawer, she spoke again.
"How'd I get it?"
He swallowed and felt his hearts speed up. There is was. That's what he'd been afraid of.
"Hmm?" he murmured.
"The radiation. Where'd I get it?"
He turned back to her. There was no avoiding the truth now. "It was in Van Statten's museum, when you released the Dalek from its metal exterior. That also released little bits of radiation, the kind that's produced by Daleks and keeps them alive. It's what gives them their unflagging strength in wanting only to conquer and destroy."
Rose paled visibly. "Could that happen to me?"
"Oh no," he said vehemently, "never. That's not what I meant. It's just that the radiation strengthens their neurons and increases production of neurotransmitters that maintain their singular purpose. In a human the effect is completely different. It affects all of the cells equally, making all of them stronger. But there's not enough radiation in your body to have any significant influence on your neurological activity. And I'm going to remove all traces anyway, so you don't need to worry."
That said, he filled a syringe with a bright orange liquid and carefully injected it into Rose's arm. She watched with wide eyes but didn't flinch; he liked to think it was because he had such a light touch.
He waited a few minutes then ran another scan. After he'd downloaded the results, he told her, "Radiation level is diminishing already. By tomorrow all traces will be gone. And there won't be any long-term effects. We caught this early enough to avoid any permanent changes."
Rose nodded in relief. Now that the danger was passed, he could see her brow furrowing. He steeled himself for the inevitable. He'd been the one to take her to the museum, to bring her face-to-face with the Dalek; this was his fault, and she had every right to be angry with him.
"Doctor." Her tone was somber.
He looked at her, hands at his sides, waiting…
"Thank you." She slid down from the examination couch and pushed herself up on her tiptoes to deliver a kiss to his cheek.
He blinked at her. "Uh… you're welcome."
She was smiling, relieved and happy. "Now you'd better figure out how to fix this," she said, patting at the nearest wall, "because now that I'm not Wonder Woman anymore, I'd like to get away from this place."
He rested his hand on wall beside hers. He could feel the gentle, living vibration of his ship. And suddenly he understood her.
"There's nothing wrong with the TARDIS," he said to Rose.
"Yeah, there is. You said so yourself—she took us to the wrong place."
"Just a misunderstanding," he replied.
She gave him an inquiring look, but he decided it was best to hold off on telling her the truth. He knew now that the ship had kept Rose in a light sleep those three nights to encourage him to deal with her while she was awake. Failing that, she'd taken them to a dangerous planet, tempting fate to provide an excuse to draw Rose's attention to the situation. The TARDIS understood what was best for him Rose.
"All sorted out now," he continued with a fond pat at the wall. "I'll take us into the Void. Why don't you make some tea?"
"Sounds good," Rose said. She left with energetic steps.
The Doctor walked back to the Console Room and set the coordinates. "Thank you," he said softly, hands resting over a warm panel.
The ship's hum intensified for just an instant in response.
"Tea's ready!" Rose called, voice echoing cheerfully along the corridors.
He pressed his palm more firmly over the console. "Doctor's orders," he laughed, then he sprinted down the ramp to his tea.