DISCLAIMER: I own nothing. I make no money off of this. Just spreading the Ten / Rose love! :)
Unbeta'd
"Help! Please help!"
Rose had just barely caught up with the Doctor when a young serving boy had come bolting down the street, screaming for help at the top of his lungs. She and the Doctor exchanged looks, and the Doctor walked over to the young man.
"I'm a doctor. What's happened?"
"It's Kit Marlowe! There's...there's been an accident!"
Realization dawned on the Doctor's face. "Deptford. Of course. That would make today May 30th, then."
The serving boy gave him a strange look. "Yes, it is...what's that got to do with anything?" The boy was pale, and his entire body was shaking. "He's dying!"
"Of course," the Doctor said, shaking his head. "I'm sorry." He put a hand on the boy's shoulder. "I'll come take a look at him."
As the serving boy led the Doctor and Rose to the place where the accident had occurred, Rose noticed that the Doctor seemed troubled.
"What's the matter?" She asked, lowering her voice so that the young man wouldn't hear. "Usually you're thrilled when you get to be the hero!"
The Doctor sighed. "I can't help him, Rose. This is it. This is the day that Marlowe dies."
Rose frowned. "Oh."
"Christopher Marlowe was stabbed to death today, May 30th, 1593, in an argument with a man named Ingram Frizer."
"So, what are you going to do, then?"
"Make him comfortable, I suppose."
The serving boy stopped in front of a well-kept house.
"This is what it happened," The Doctor whispered to Rose. "The guest house of the widow Eleanor Bull."
They made their way into the sitting room, where Marlowe was sprawled across the couch. There was a huge gash across one side of his face, and he seemed to be unable to open one eye.
The Doctor rushed to his side. "It's okay, I'm here. I'm a doctor. I'm here to help." Marlowe was trying to speak, and the action seemed to be causing him a great deal of pain. A small line of blood trailed from his mouth and down his chin.
"What's he saying?" Rose asked, her voice full of concern.
The Doctor leaned in close to Marlowe to try to hear him better. Marlowe attempted to speak again, managing only the merest hint of a whisper. In his feverish state, the man appeared barely aware of what he was doing. The Doctor's eyes grew wide. He rose and took a step back from the couch.
"What?" Rose demanded. "What is it?"
"He said he can't die," the Doctor replied, his voice a mixture of surprise and fear. His eyes never once left the man on the couch. "He said…'They promised.'"
Following the Doctor's line of sight, Rose looked down at Marlowe, and gasped loudly. "Oh my god! Is he…?"
The gaping wound across Marlowe's face seemed to be shrinking right before her eyes, fresh new skin growing to cover it.
"Healing himself." The Doctor finished for her, looking at Marlowe with disapproval. "Unless he's Captain Jack Harkness, he shouldn't be able to do that," he muttered to himself.
"What did you say? Did you say something about Captain Jack?" Rose asked, turning to face the Doctor.
The Doctor cleared his throat, turning back to Marlowe so he wouldn't have to meet Rose's eyes. "Not important. Hand me a washcloth, would you?"
