They always seemed to be running. That must be all he had ever really done with his life, was run. The doctor ran around a corner, shivered from his fever, then chanced a glance around the corner. He had lost them a few turns back, but he was not going to take any chances. He closed his eyes as a fit of coughing could be felt coming on. As he tried to stifle the irritation, he let his mind wander back to his missing comrades. It has been days. Hopefully they were at least together, the two of them, safe and sound. He breathed in slowly, his hearts finally calming, and pushed himself from the wall he had begun to lean on, then started up his run again. He reached into his pocket, wanting to feel the comfort of his sonic screwdriver, the one device that had saved him from countless situations, but did not find it. He was not expecting it to be there, that would be too convenient. As the doctor turned another corner, he fell, his legs being unable to sustain him any longer. He hit the ground, and lay there, unmoving, not having the energy to pick himself up. He closed his eyes again, finding the darkness to be more comforting at the moment than this insane world he had thrown his friends and himself into. His thoughts raced as he lay on the ground, thinking of what horrors his comrades could be going through at the moment, or they may even be safe in the TARDIS right now. The doctor had instructed them to go to the TARDIS, but it seemed none of his passengers ever listened to him, for they had run off in the opposite direction of the TARDIS when he had last seen them on the computer monitor in the main control room. No. He could not give up, he could not rest until he knew he was going to take his friends home, back to where they belong in their own times. He had taken them from their worlds, and he was determined to take them back. He opened his eyes, wiped away hair that was sticking messily to his forehead from the sweat of the fever, and lifted himself, slowly and shakily, from the ground.
The hallways seemed completely empty as the doctor turned several more corners, only to find himself absolutely lost among the impossible amount of corridors. His breathing had become quick and short as he ran, his hearts working much too hard for his feverish body to handle. He ran on for another minute, hoping he would find an exit, needing to get back to his friends, yearning to know that they were truly alright. His vision began to blur then, and black spots appeared in his vision… and he had stopped running. He did not know when he had stopped running; time was too complicated a subject at the moment for his overheating mind to comprehend. His legs felt stiff, like he had been standing there for several minutes straight, unmoving. The thought crept into his mind, his emotions spiking as he wondered if he was losing it, if the fever was finally getting to him. He had not blacked out, he was still standing. His heart gave a quick jolt, then the other. He fell to his knees, clenching his sweat drenched shirt weakly, nothing but pain registering in his mind. Was he dying? That could not possibly be true. He was the doctor! He always saves the day in the end, even if there were a few casualties. A few for the world, he would always think as innocent lives had to be sacrificed for the good of the many. It was never a real philosophy he had become acquainted with. He always believed he had better morals than that. But he also knew that he was always wrong about everything. Another wave of pain surged into his hearts. He fell, for the fifth time that day, onto the ground, his mind becoming blank and his vision becoming dark.
Poison is such a cheap trick.
His consciousness faded in and out as he lay on the cold ground, almost welcoming the darkness, pleading for it to take away the pain. He would not have to run anymore. But, would he simply regenerate? He did not wish to. He did not know how this poison worked on a Time Lord body. Would it kill him for good, or would he come back? He focused on his breathing… in and out… in and out… but it was going so fast; he could barely keep up as his hearts beat faster and faster, and his air became shorter and harder to keep up with. The floor was his only other comfort, its coolness radiating from it, kissing his fever ridden cheek with cold. He was burning up. He was so cold… yet so hot. His vision focused for a moment, and the doctor could make out his surroundings once more. He could not discern how much time had passed, although it had felt like hours, it might have only have been seconds. The walls were gray, as he had remembered them being when he could see clearly, but something was different about them. The doctor's mind raced for a moment as he thought of what could possibly be different, when the black spots returned to his vision and he felt himself slipping into darkness. He watched the wall, shrinking in his vision, his last thought being what was he missing.