Previously in Chapter Three:

"Why are you crying? Am I hurting you? Are you injured somewhere other than your head?" he asked, quickly turning and urging her to sit down on the bed as he looked her over thoroughly. "That was a nasty fall you took. Probably bumped yourself up good and proper, but don't you worry, I'll make it all better," he said, his voice lilting with kindness as he hoped to get through to her. But when he saw the first teardrop fall, it saddened him, feeling as if he were failing her somehow.

He knelt down directly in front of her line of vision. "Donna? Where does it hurt?" he asked softly.

Her eyes met his, then she looked down. Her hand rose to her chest, and she pointed at it, still looking away from him.

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Chapter Four:

Ignorance Should Be Bliss
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"Your chest? Did you hurt your ribs? Donna - did you fall inside the tub first? Perhaps you fell inside the tub first then managed to get out only to fall again outside of it. There could be so many injuries and here I've been a total git, moving you around like that," the Doctor was suddenly talking a mile a minute, voicing all the possible injuries she could have incurred, practically counting them all off.

He did manage to stop his ramblings when he was suddenly punched in the arm. Hard.

"Ouch! Nothing wrong with your right arm, then," he stated, rubbing where she'd smacked him. "What'd you do that for?" he asked defensively.

"You idiot! You hurt my heart," she told him, then looked down again as she began crying in earnest, hiding her face within her hands.

Mere seconds later, the Doctor pulled a stethoscope from his pocket and immediately began using it, touching it to her chest strategically around her arms.

Donna peeked up at him then, bewildered by what he was doing. In mere seconds she had the stethoscope's diaphragm at her mouth like a microphone.

"How ignorant are you?" she yelled.

The Doctor ripped the eartips away, rubbing his ears to alleviate his sudden discomfort. His stern glare faded quickly though, as her outburst had her holding her head, obviously in pain.

"Oh God," she whispered, her face paling as she closed her eyes. Donna fell forward, stopped from falling off the bed thanks to the Doctor, who caught her by the shoulders and laid her back on the bed.

When her towel loosened from the action, he quickly knotted it back in place, not ready for another outburst if she became conscious any time soon.

He checked her pulse, then lifted her eyelids one at a time, noting her pupils were slightly dilated. Standing, he pulled a blanket from the bottom of her bed, laying it gently over her from feet to shoulders.

"I suppose I'll bring the Infirmary to you then," he whispered softly, turning quickly to retrieve what he needed.

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It was only thirty minutes later when the Doctor finished working on Donna's concussion. She'd started to awaken as soon as he'd begun, but the Time Lord lulled her into a deep sleep, sparing her the remnant pain and he the potential rage of another outburst.

Tucking all the equipment he'd used back into his bag, the Doctor covered Donna in a blanket then touched his fingertips to her temples, bringing her out of the deep slumber he'd earlier induced. He sat himself in the recliner near her bedroom door, being quiet so as not to wake her, but determined to be there when she awoke. He had to be sure that he'd missed nothing during his cursory exam and treatment. Perhaps he would be lucky enough when she awoke that the side effects of the arrow would be diminished.

He was not so lucky.

Noting her changed breathing pattern, the Doctor stood and walked over to Donna, sitting beside her on the bed just as her eyes opened.

She looked at the Doctor groggily at first, and he leaned closer, noting her attempt to focus on him. Finally, her eyes met his and stayed on them.

"Hello," the Doctor spoke quietly.

"What happened?" she whispered.

"What do you remember?"

"I think I remember bein' in the bathroom. I took a shower, didn't I?"

The Doctor nodded.

"Yeah, I felt so good after you fixed up my ankle, I just wanted to get cleaned up a bit. Then I remember, well, I think I do ... did I fall?"

"Yep. Gave yourself a concussion, but it's all been sorted now. Good as new. Right as rain. And squeaky clean to boot. Now you just need some more sleep. Doctor's orders," he grinned.

"You fixed me? No more concussion?" Donna asked, absently rubbing her head where it had made impact with the towel rack.

"Of course I did. Now then, how do you feel?" The Doctor preened with pride at helping her, yet still his concern was evident.

"Oh, I'm good. Yeah, I feel good. Thanks."

"Excellent! Now all you need to do is get in your pyjamas," he began, quickly getting up and walking into the bathroom, snatching the garments still hanging from the back of the door and bringing them to her. "Get yourself dressed and then you can return to that wonderful sleep cycle of yours. The more rest you get, the better."

The Doctor was smiling widely, holding her nightwear eagerly towards her, but the smile fell when Donna peeked under the blanket on top of her.

"Oh. My. God!" she shrieked, giving the Lord of Time a death glare. "You're a freakin' perve, that's what you are!"

"Donna ... I -"

"You what? What?! What did you do?"

"I didn't do anything!" the Doctor defended while backing up a step. "I only took care of your injury. There was nothing else to do."

"Yeah? So what's with that sly little grin you just had plastered on? Enjoy fondling my night clothes, do ya? Or rememberin' the fun you had while I wasn't in 'em?"

"I have a good mind to sedate you, young lady."

Donna looked at the Time Lord harshly for a good ten seconds before a small grin began to appear on her face. Certainly not what the Doctor was expecting after his last comment.

"Donna? Are you feeling alright?" he asked, taking a cautious step back towards her.

"Yeah. You called me young lady. Young! That's really sweet. I mean, I suppose I am young compared to you. You're brittle and ancient, after all. But that was still a very nice thing to say. Cheers!"

The Doctor rolled his eyes as he wiped his fingertips below them with an exaggerated sigh. This was going to be among the longest few days of his many lives, he could tell.

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After getting Donna settled down and leaving her only when the pulls of weariness lulled her to sleep, the Doctor left her side, leaving the bedroom door ajar in case she called for him, or in case she got herself into more trouble, which she was managing to do regularly since falling victim of the drugged dart.

He knew it wasn't her fault; the drug was hallucinogenic at best and paranoia-inducing at worst. If it was anyone's fault, it was his own. He should've realized the danger he'd placed her in and protected her far better than he had done. But none of that guilt he succumbed to was going to magically make her suddenly better. Still, it had been in her system now for almost sixteen hours, and things could've been a lot worse.

Or so he thought.

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