A/N: I uploaded this quickly due to demand and the last one being fairly short. I should warn you that there won't be another one for a couple of days.

Thanks to the three people who reviewed the last chapter, it is greatly appreciated.

Enjoy:

Cold

Chapter Four: Origin Tracking

'Never use force, you just embarrass yourself. Unless you're cross, in which case, always use force.'

"ATCHOO!"

This sound was followed by a fit of coughing that sounded wholly unhealthy. It was a cough loaded with another sound, one running underneath the first. The fit sounded rather as though the Doctor were in fact trying to cough up his own lungs. He was doubled over, clutching the console with one hand for support and using his other hand to frantically cough into. Once the fit had finished, he batted his eyelids and cleared his throat, straightening and continuing to fly the TARDIS until it made the familiar thudding sound, indicating that it had landed… apparently, with the brakes on.

"You really don't sound well," said Rory, moving towards him as though he were a patient determined to not be treated; which was, as it happened, a rather accurate description, "You should rest."

"I'm not the only one ill here!" snapped the Doctor, more aggressively than he had intended but he had more important priorities than his companions' concern for him, "The TARDIS is as well: in fact, we both are; if I rest the virus will progress and kill us both but if I find a cure I can at least hope that there's the vague possibility that we'll both survive this without being permanently handicapped in some way, happy now? Let's go."

The Doctor turned around and sniffled. He suppressed the urge to groan as he felt the tickle of a cough assail his chest. Resisting the urge to hold his head in his hands, he looked up and observed the TARDIS monitor, attempting to work out where they were. A slight frown shadowed his face as the planet's name slowly sunk in. Hand on mouth, he mentally calculated how dangerous what he was about to do was. He smiled beneath his hand as the lethal nature of the task at hand began to dawn on him. Lowering his chin onto his chest, he allowed a sigh which turned into a coughing fit, allowing him to receive concerned looks from his two friends.

The TARDIS nudged his mind, gently rubbing against it as a cat affectionately rubs against your legs in a bid for attention. She was, he could sense, concerned that he was pushing himself to hard, putting himself in unnecessary danger for her. From experience, she knew that trying to stop him saving others was a pointless and arduous task but he was doing this to save her and, heart-warming as it was, she would rather he be safely away from harm than risking his eleventh life, and those of his companions, just for her. Able to sense all this from his ship, the Doctor tenderly nudged her back, assuring her that everything would be alright. That he would make everything alright again, and, naturally, she lied back.

"It's a ship," said Rory, "And you're the one with the symptoms. You need to rest."

"NO!" roared the Doctor, louder than he had intended, loud enough to make his companions jump and, noticing this, he immediately lowered his bunged-up voice, "No. The TARDIS is… 'sides, I've never been much good at resting, or sitting – TCHOO! – still for that matter, or even being quiet."

There was a brief silence. The Doctor looked up at the TARDIS's' time rotor, patting the console affectionately as he felt the TARDIS's' mind mentally plead for him to not do anything dangerous on her behalf. He'd never had to do anything like it for her before. She'd always been indomitable, undefeatable. It was odd how the tables had turned, how it was suddenly him doing everything in his power to save her. And he would, he assured himself, save her. Coughing once or twice, the Doctor patted the glass cylinder before hopping towards the door with significantly less vigour and energy than normal.

Amy watched, worried. She'd seen the Doctor injured, electrocuted and knocked unconscious – usually by the aforementioned electrocution – but she had never seen him ill. Even though it wasn't technically him that was ill, he was expressing the symptoms and looked worse for wear. Already there seemed to be less vitality in him and it seemed as though every energetic movement was a forced attempt to make them think that he was feeling fine. It was obvious that the coughs and the sneezing and bunged-up-ness were making him feel pretty horrid and, from what she could see, it was only his determination to help the TARDIS that was keeping him on his feet. She could see the same thoughts passing through the mind of Rory as she looked into his bright eyes, alive with protective nurse-y concern.

"Okay, so, - TCHOO! – planet outside, it's called Spiringosa, but it's more commonly known as the Grey Planet and I'm sure you'll – TCHOO! – work out why when we open the door," explained the Doctor, one hand on handle, one hand waving madly about in the air, "Couple of things you should know about Spiringosa. Firstly, - TCHOO! - the locals don't look human and don't mention the word raisins around them, you'll see why. Secondly, Northern Hemisphere good, - TCHOO! - Southern Hemisphere bad. Thirdly, don't wander off, don't want you getting caught in the crossfire of some gang warfare. TCHOO! Not good if you want to keep your legs."

"Doesn't sound very safe out there." stated Rory, sounding calmer than he was.

"Oh, it isn't," agreed the Doctor, coughing briefly before his bunged-up voice spoke out once more, "One of the most dangerous places in the universe, Spiringosa."

"Should we really be going outside then?" asked Rory.

"Bit of danger never hurt anyone!" exclaimed the Doctor, before pulling the two doors wide open, revealing a slowly opening black box. The three walked out and, with an emotion akin only to that of a worried parent, the Doctor pulled the doors to.

Watching with a fascination that was wholly contrary to their survival instincts, the trio observed the black box. It was no taller than knee-height and was a thing of metallic black beauty. To the top right hand side of the box, a small flashing green light fluttered, turning red on every fourth flash. The top layer of the box slid open, leaving what was inside the box to be set free. Emerging from the black box, was a suspiciously gun-shaped device on a stick. A suspiciously gun-shaped device on a stick pointing at them.

"Okay, so a bit of danger hurt quite a large number of people. No one ever said phrases had to be accurate."

A small crosshair sat on the top of the specifically sniper-shaped weapon and it emanated a thin red laser which fell on the Doctor's chest. Hovering there, the Doctor remained perfectly still, regarding the thin stream of light with obvious surprise and contempt, a combination of emotions that it seemed only the Time Lord was capable of pulling off. With nothing but a click to indicate the weapon had done anything, a large dart-shaped projectile had become implanted in the centre of the alien's chest. Frowning at it indecisively, he quickly pulled the thing out before it had the chance to release its load, launching it to the floor and regarding it with eyes of fear and hatred.

The gun, strangely enough, then attempted to fire again, as though once had not been enough. Unhappy to take another dart to the chest, for fear of what was contained within the dart to begin with, the Doctor pushed his two companions to the floor before following them down onto the grey cement, watching as the projectile flew through the air into the TARDIS's' doors. Springing to his feet with an agility impossible for an ill being, he savagely tore the dart from the TARDIS's' door before a single drop of the purple liquid could be injected into the wonderful shade of blue that sat over the wooden doors of what he regarded as the best ship in the entire universe.

"What was that?" asked Amy, her voice containing the familiar groaning tone of one who had been launched to the floor yet again. Rory picked himself up first, having landed ungracefully onto Amy as the pair had been thrown into the floor by the Doctor who had wasted no time jumping to his feet immediately afterwards. Rory extended a hand, which Amy accepted, before the two began brushing the dirty grey dust from their clothes. Once realising no reply had been voiced from his mouth, Amy questioned again, "Doctor?"

The two, realising that the silence was terribly uncharacteristic, looked up. The Doctor was facing away from the dart-firing weapon. Right hand sitting over the TARDIS's' right door, above the St John Ambulance logo, his head rested on the blue wooden frame, as though finding comfort in the action. His face was knotted into an uncomfortable frown, as if upset or unhappy. His mouth parted a small amount and vague whispers could be heard, but the wind snatched them viciously away before the two companions could even realise that it was an alien language, that was by no stretch of the imagination, even vaguely related to English.

"Doctor?" asked Rory, taking a step forward, fearing that the condition of his ad hoc patient had worsened. Outstretching an open-palmed hand, Rory approached the ancient Time Lord, "Are you okay?"

Patting the TARDIS doors affectionately, the Doctor whispered incomprehensible sounds before smiling sadly and snapping his eyes wide open. Leaping back in surprise, Rory was caught by Amy as the Doctor span sharply in a circle, completing a perfect one hundred and eighty degrees with the vaguest traces of effort visible on his face. In the dull sunlight, blotted out behind a thin layer of grey rain clouds, tiny droplets of sweat could be seen forming on the alien's face, tracing the line of his hair. Face contorted in a frown that seemed more one of concentration than anger, the Doctor steadied himself and glared at the machine before him. Strangely enough, the gun fell back into the box with an audible clunking of machinery before a tiny whirring sealed up the box once more.

In the distance, two very alien beings sat. Humanoid, their bodies were covered in simple grey clothing that resembled overalls. Their faces, slightly shadowed by their hair, were visibly wrinkly and brown. Suddenly, the human couple found themselves understanding completely why they had been warned not to mention the word raisins. The two creatures stood up, as though they were surprised by the behaviour of the strange man in tweed. The Doctor stared at them, his expression containing an almost unidentifiable emotion that just about managed to override the increasing feeling of lethargy that was floating from him.

"What was that?" demanded the Doctor, shouting at two humanoid silhouettes standing beside a black bench in the not too distant distance, "What was in those darts?" he queried, taking a step forward, "Who are you working for?" he asked, curiosity bubbling quietly beneath a surge of other emotions, "Tell me what you've," he ordered, eyes burning as he yelled, "DONE TO MY TARDIS!"

"TARDI'? We ain't done nuffing to yer TARDI'," retorted the one on the right, the one with a hair colour that seemed to resemble that of faded dark blue, "We're jus' doin' our job."

"Job? Job?" shouted the Doctor, his voice turning to a roar of sound as a fit of coughs threatened to disrupt his demands, "Tell me what you've done! The whole plan! Right now!"

The two aliens refused to reply, instead looking down into one of the many off-shooting alleys surrounding the perfectly square park. Realising that the Doctor was making no signal to indicate that he'd noticed this, they turned to face him. They walked towards him, noticing with slight alarm that he seemed to be listing from side to side like a boat travelling on the sea. His face fell into one of semi-conscious frustration as he tried to fiddle with the sonic screwdriver which he, at some point, had recovered from his pocket. A coughing fit caused him to drop it and double over slightly. Once recovered, he crouched down towards the floor and clasped the screwdriver with visibly shaky hands.

"You're not well," said Rory, "You can barely stand."

"Good thing I'm crouching then, isn't it?" retorted the Doctor, who then looked up, noticing that more of the raisin-faced aliens were entering the immediate vicinity.

The two raisin-faced aliens had called in the cavalry, or, more accurately, the gang. There were plenty of gangs hanging around in the parks on what-were-Sundays-with-a-different-name but this particular gang was one of three gangs they really didn't want to run into, or be dragged into meeting. One of only two gangs containing a small ex-army human corps, their marksmanship was next to none and their imagination doubly so. The gang, all wearing the same grey overalls and carrying the same unnecessarily over-sized weapons, whispered quietly amongst themselves before turning in perfect military synchrony to face the three aliens and their blue magic box.

"They've turned to face us and they've got guns and they're standing in a line," stated Rory, a slightly hysterical tone sneaking into his voice, "This really doesn't look good. Do something, Doctor, you're normally good with the trigger-happy natives."

The Doctor was wobbling on his feet but seemingly unaware of it, putting the sensation down to something else that his conscious mind was too preoccupied to think about in any real detail. As a result, Amy and Rory placed themselves strategically either side of him in case he suddenly fell over, which they were more than expecting him to. His eyes, normally firing about wildly, were doing so with a clearly slower movement, instead seeming to drearily drag themselves from looking at one thing to another. His face emanated the slightest worry at his eyes being unable to move at their normal speed but this emotion was barely picked up by his two companions.

"Oh yeah," mocked the Doctor, "Real smart, get the semi-conscious, very ill alien to stop a gang full of extraordinarily – TCHOO! - creative madmen from killing us all in what I could imagine would be a very painful and unpleasant manner. Genius, Rory, perhaps you should start coming up with all the plans."

"Doctor!" pleaded Amy, from the corner of her mouth, "The big one's walking this way. He does not look happy."

"Of course he's not happy," retorted the Doctor, eyes drooping as he spoke, "He looks like a walking, talking raisin. I wouldn't be very happy if I looked like a raisin either."

"Yeah, but he's a walking, talking raisin in a bad mood with a big gun," hissed Amy, "Unless you come up with a plan in the next ten seconds, I'm going to personally volunteer you to go first to say hello."

The Lieutenant approached. He was an abnormally tall Spiringosian, the Doctor noted apprehensively as he walked closer. Nearly seven foot, the alien was beyond that of a virtual giant and reaching the realms of very real giant-hood. A tuft, quite literally a tuft, of bright blue, bright hideous neon blue hair sat on the top of his wrinkled mess of a face. His four eyes of startling red stared down at the Doctor, whom was a comparatively tiny being, with a contempt that was almost palpable.

Upon his plain grey pyjama-looking suit, on the shoulders, epaulettes were situated. These epaulettes were highly decorated with silver symbols, used to indicate his rank and achievements. Once realising what these achievements were, the Doctor wished that he wasn't as cultural as he was. Ignorance, occasionally, really was bliss. For the achievements noted on the Lieutenant's epaulettes were in a grouping the Doctor knew only to be 'bad'. Among the 'bad' grouping were activities such as interviewing, interrogation and torture. Apparently, the Lieutenant was something of an expert.

"Hello!" cheered the Doctor, choosing to ignore the very real danger he was in.

"You de owner of dat blue box?" asked the silhouetted Lieutenant as he plunged the trio into darkness with his shadow, "Zir?"

"The TARDIS?" asked the Doctor, noticing with a vague alarm that his eyes appeared to be blurring around the edges, "Yes. Why?"

"I don't think he wants to give you a parking ticket," stated Amy, watching the sick twisted smile that contorted the Lieutenant's face as the Doctor revealed that he was indeed the owner of said blue box, "Perhaps we should consider going for our mid-afternoon jog now, Doctor?"

"Wha - TCHOO! – are you on about?" began the Doctor before turning to face her, with an expression of genuine confusion, "Seriously, what mid-afternoon jog? ATCHOO!"

"Doctor," whispered Amy urgently, "The mid-afternoon jog to get away from places."

"… seriously, Pond," continued the Doctor, ignorance slapped on his face like make-up, "I have no idea what you're talking about."

"The mid-afternoon jog which we always go on when faced with terrifying-trigger-happy-aliens-that-want-to-kill-us." urged Amy.

"But we never," the Doctor paused as realisation finally dawned on him, "Oh, yes, that mid-afternoon jog…"

The Lieutenant signalled, almost invisibly, for his troops to move strategically around the area. Pairs stood at each of the possible escape routes obvious enough for the raisin-faced gang to assume they needed to cover. A smile, sitting upon the Lietuenant's face with unhealthy satisfaction, warned the trio that whatever happened next would definitely be bad, bad if they didn't do anything, that was. Taking a step forward, the trio took a step back, finding that their backs collided with the TARDIS, who was now emitting a heat that was almost scalding to their skin. Leaping upwards, the two humans moved away from the ship, flanking it and leaving the Doctor between a boiling TARDIS and a trigger-happy gang leader.

"You need t' come with uz." stated the Lieutenant simply.

"Really, - TCHOO! – do I?" asked the Doctor, barely noticing the steam his hand was producing every second it was in contact with the TARDIS's' frame, "Cause I'm really quite sure that I was told – TCHOO! - not to wander off with any gun-wielding strangers. I'd rather escape and run for my life, if I'm completely honest."

"You could try, but all de exits are covered."

"Almost all the exits are covered."

"Wha'?" asked the Lieutenant, frowning in confusion.

"Well," began the Doctor, passing Amy and Rory a look which they understood completely as they dived behind the blue box whilst the Doctor continued, "There's the one behind the TARDIS!" declared the Doctor before running behind the TARDIS with a speed that should have been simply impossible for someone so wobbly on their feet.