Sarah groaned and licked her swollen lips. She'd woken from a nightmare, and once again her brow was clammy and her sheets soaked with sweat. She considered calling out for Alan, who had insisted on bunking down in the spare bedroom, but it was deep into the night and he deserved his rest as much as anyone. Besides, there was little he could do for her now.
The nightmare tugged at the edges of her consciousness. She didn't recall it with any clarity but it had been about the Doctor, of that she felt certain. He was in danger, he needed her and she couldn't reach him.
She swallowed a sob and eventually drifted back to sleep.
This time she heard his voice in her dreams. His new voice, not the ones that she'd traveled with but the one she'd met again all these years later. He was saying something, gently but urgently, and she struggled to hear the words more clearly.
Wake up, Sarah Jane.
Wake up.
She drifted, wanting to prolong the moment for as long as possible. She didn't dream about him as often, now, as she had in years past. But when she did the conjure of his presence was always a soothing balm to her psyche. And in these few final hours she needed that more than anything in the world.
Sarah – you must wake up.
His voice was more insistent now. And even though she didn't want the moment to end, she would do as he asked. She would always do as he asked.
Sarah levered her burning eyelids open. In the dim light of her darkened bedroom, the Doctor's angular face swam into view. She bit her lip. Another hallucination. No.
Then she felt the cool, light touch of fingertips at her temples, and knew she was wrong. This was real. He was real.
"Doctor?" Her voice sounded thin and trembly to her own ears. "How –"
"Sssh." The fingers lifted from her skin and one was placed lightly across her lips.
With a determined movement the Doctor pushed the bedcovers back and swept her up in his arms. Her gaunt frame was feather-light in his grasp and her cheek where it lay against his chest was burning hot. The virus was raging though her body, overwhelming her immune system's desperate, futile attempts to mount a defense. He only hoped he had reached her in time.
He turned for the TARDIS with his precious bundle in his arms, only then registering the presence of four alarmed humans of varying ages crowding into the room.
"Who are you?" the dark haired, well-built man demanded, "and what the hell do you think you're doing?"
"I'm the Doctor. I'm taking her to where she can get well," the Doctor replied shortly as he awkwardly fished in his pocket for the TARDIS key. His keen gaze swept across the three children, taking in the mixture of alarm and raw hope in their faces.
"She'll be all right," he vowed, staring intently at each one of them in turn. For a moment his expression softened as his eyes lingered on the distressed-looking tall boy. Her son, he recalled suddenly, though being otherwise occupied at the moment he didn't remember the lad's name. "I promise."
He pushed opened the TARDIS door with one shoulder and straddled the threshold. "Back in a jif."
Before any of the humans could move, the blue box wheezed, groaned, and faded from the room.