Rose did not respond to the Doctor's question for several seconds. Finally she said, "Pehlia—she's pregnant. That's why we have to go an' get her. She can't have the baby there."
"No, of course not. As soon as the ship's ready we'll go back." He wasn't sure what else to say. He sensed quite distinctly that she was trying to tell him something without coming out and saying it directly. So he waited.
After a few moments, Rose said softly, "She wasn't gettin' enough to eat. The rations they gave us were hardly anythin' at all. So I gave her most of mine."
That explained the degree of malnutrition. "Of course you did," he said with deep affection and admiration. He rested his chin over her crown, one hand running lightly over her hair.
"How long had she been there?"
"'Bout eight months, I think."
"I'm sorry. She must have had a difficult time."
"She was married, back on her planet. But they didn't care. Didn't matter to those bastards; she was fair game."
He'd heard this tale before, on countless planets, in countless galaxies, and countless times. "The guards?"
He felt her nod against his chest. Her cheeks were wet now. "She was raped."
He exhaled slowly, his voice quiet as he acknowledged her. "Yes."
"At least after they saw she was pregnant they left her alone," Rose continued huskily. "But she can't have the baby there. It's dirty an' hot, an' there'd be no one to help her, to be sure she came through it all right. An' she might not, 'cause she's weak, Doctor. She's not doin' very well, even though I tried to help her, to make sure she got extra food." She stifled a sob.
"Sshh," he soothed, wrapping his arms around her. "It's all right, Rose. Everything's going to be fine."
Guilt thudded through him, resounding with each beat of his hearts. Whatever had happened to Rose had been his fault. He'd left her, taken over a month to get her back, and during that time she'd been…
He took a half step back then lifted her chin. Tears trailed down her pale cheeks, leaving little streaks in the heavy make-up she'd applied.
"Rose," he said gently, his thumb rubbing softly at her cheek, "were you raped?"
She inhaled sharply then shook her head. "No." She did not look at him; her gaze flitted about the room, anywhere but at him.
"Whatever happened, whatever they did to you, you can tell me," he urged, then added with emphasis, "It wasn't your fault."
He felt that it required great effort on her part to move her eyes to his face. Even then she focused upon his chin.
"Could you jus'… y'know, give me some medicine, somethin' sorta, what's the word? Broad, yeah? An' I know it'll work okay." She risked a very quick glance at his eyes.
He reached for her hands. "I don't want you to be in pain," he said very sincerely. "I can fix any injury, no matter where it is or how it happened."
She dared another look into his eyes. "'S not that bad." She averted her gaze again quickly.
"Rose, please—"
"'S not what you're thinkin'," she added. "They didn't… They grabbed me a few times an' said some things, but they never… It never got that far."
Again he sensed that she wanted to tell him what had happened, but she seemed ashamed. He didn't know how else to convey his concern and support to her. Whatever they'd done, however they'd hurt her, would never affect his feelings about her.
"But maybe I should've jus' let them," she said, her voice only a whisper.
Shocked by her words, he entreated, "Why, Rose?"
She swallowed and coughed. Automatically she lifted a hand to her chest, but as soon as her fingers brushed over her shirt she drew her hand away. He fetched a cup of cool water for her, watching while she drank it slowly. He noticed that her hand shook a little.
When the cup was empty, he took it from her and set it aside. Then he turned to face her again. She looked so small and child-like with her legs dangling over the edge of the exam couch and the frightened, anxious expression upon her ashen face.
He took her hand. "Come on," he said softly, helping her from the couch.
Perhaps she'd feel more comfortable and willing to open up to him in a different, less sterile setting. He led her a few paces to a door that connected the infirmary to a cozy sitting room. More times than he cared to remember he'd left anxious companions in here while he treated the wounds of their friends.
A small settee with plush, softly upholstered cushions sat along one wall. Closing the door, he motioned to the sofa. She shuffled over to the couch then sank down slowly. The lighting in the little room was designed to soothe human emotions; he adjusted it to its full strength with a quick tap at a wall switch. That done, he took a few steps to stand before Rose. He nodded at the space beside her, tacitly requesting permission to sit.
She offered him a wooden, half smile. In response, he eased himself down carefully beside her, moving with measured motions to avoid any possible jostling or jarring that could exacerbate her pain.
As he settled next to her, he scrolled through his recent memories, beginning with the moment he'd pulled her into the TARDIS. He replayed the scenes with eidetic perfection, watching her again in his mind, searching for any clues about her injury. She'd moved gingerly, but he couldn't recall anything specific. Had she been a bit guarded, though, toward her abdomen? Hadn't her heart rate spiked for a moment as he'd hugged her and pressed her body against his? And she'd sat down slowly at the kitchen table, with the controlled movements of one trying to minimize core strain.
Internal injury could easily cause an infection, and a serious, very painful one at that. He hadn't noted any signs of fever when he'd touched her, but her deep anxiety could cause temporary circulatory changes, leaving her skin unnaturally cool. Shock, too, could have a similar effect. The lighting should have calmed some of her apprehension; perhaps he could get a more accurate reading now.
He placed his hand over hers, focusing all of his senses upon the temperature of her skin. It was slightly elevated; she had a low-grade fever. Her pulse was slowing incrementally, however, which showed that indeed she was growing calmer.
He slid his arm around her shoulder, tentatively at first in case she didn't want that level of contact. But she sank into him, her head burrowing against his chest, and he understood that she craved the safety and comfort of his closeness.
He held her carefully for some time, and neither spoke. His hand remained upon hers. Gradually her heart rate approached normal, and her respiration slowed as well.
"You're safe, Rose," he whispered, kissing the top of her head softly.
She made an indistinct noise of acknowledgement. He could tell that she was more relaxed, probably due in large part to the lights. It would be very easy to lift his hands to her temples and look inside her mind. If he did it quickly she wouldn't even be aware… But that would violate her trust and her privacy, and given what she'd been through recently, he suspected both were already tenuous at best. So he resisted the urge to find out for himself what had happened to her.
He'd never been particularly good at waiting, though. He was a man of action: seek out the problem then fix it—that had always been his way.
"Would you tell me more about your friend, Pehlia?" he asked softly, hoping to find a path, albeit a circuitous one, to Rose's secret.
"What… what d'you wanna know?"
"How old is she?"
"Couple years older than me."
"How did she end up there?"
"She was travelin', and her ship was hijacked. They landed on the planet an' the hijackers sold her to 'em."
"That's terrible."
Rose nodded soberly. "Yeah."
"You said before that she helped you. What sorts of things did she help you with?"
"She showed me how to dig out the vegetables fast enough to fill the baskets so we wouldn't be punished."
"Punished?" He fought to keep his voice calm.
"Yeah."
He waited, hand moving in soothing strokes over her hair. If his fingers brushed over her temple and his mind sent a tiny bit of encouragement to hers to nudge out the facts, well, it wasn't really intentional.
"They'd use a switch," she said softly. "On our legs."
Surely that couldn't be what she was ashamed of? "May I see?" he asked.
She looked up at him, and he knew immediately that this was not the topic from which she had shied away. He gave her a nod of encouragement, and to his surprise she swung her legs up and set them upon his lap. She shifted her body around a bit, turning partially to the side. He didn't miss the small grimace of pain the swept over her face as she did this.
He smiled his thanks then carefully slid up the loose leg of her trousers to expose her right ankle and calf. Her shin was peppered with small scrapes and punctures. A few were reddened and raised, but these were not the source of the troubling infection. He moved his hand around to her calf and found several similar marks. He slid his palm up further, past the back of her knee then stopped when his fingers felt the rough, raised areas low on her thigh.
He pushed her trouser leg up further and carefully turned her leg to the side to view the damage. Three long scars marred the skin of her lower thigh. The wounds had healed badly, but he saw no signs of current infection.
She watched him without speaking as he examined her left leg, finding similar marks.
"This happened several weeks ago," he stated.
She nodded. "One time's all it took."
One hand clenched at his side. When they returned for Pehlia, he'd see that the guards were punished, not only for Rose and her friend, but for all of the prisoners they'd abused over the years.
"I can take care of these, heal the scars completely so there're no marks," he told her.
"'Kay."
He lowered the soft fabric back down to her ankles and gave her feet a gentle, affectionate caress.
Rose was reclining against the plump pillows between the back and arm of the couch. He leaned over a little, resting one hand very lightly against her belly. She glanced down at the appendage and frowned.
"What're you—" she began.
"If you're hurt here, I can take care of it, too," he replied gently. Through the thick fabric he could feel little, however.
"I'm not."
"Rose, please," he urged. "Let me see."
"That's not…" She looked away again. But as she did, she slid up her shirt to reveal the lower portion of her abdomen. "See?"
Her loose trousers sat just below her hipbones. His gaze ran over her skin. He could see the bones protruding at her waistband and the concave curve of her stomach. His hearts tightened at her thinness. She really had eaten next to nothing during her captivity.
Her skin was fairly smooth, with just a few light abrasions. Still, damage beneath the surface would be less apparent. He placed his hand on her abdomen again, glancing at her to be sure she wouldn't startle, then he felt about very gently. There was no rigidity, and he sensed no tenderness. His fingers dipped a bit lower, sliding beneath her waistband to press carefully between her hipbones.
She grasped his wrist and eased his hand away. "They didn't do anythin' like that to me. I already told you."
"I'm sorry," he replied. "I thought you didn't—couldn't tell me, and I'd have understood that. I know some things can be very hard to talk about, but Rose, you can tell me anything. You know that, don't you?"
She pushed her shirt down . "I should've just let them do it," she said. Then she turned away from him.
To be continued...