The saline drips were helping the children minimally, but he thought the simple solution would buy them at least a little time. The Doctor glanced back at the wan faces in the sickroom as he stepped through the door. Just a few more hours… Silently he entreated them to hold on, to keep fighting.
He walked to the lab and checked the microscope one more time, ensuring that it was ready the moment he obtained the blood sample from Rose. Perhaps he was dragging his heels a bit, but he wanted to be sure he'd waited long enough for the leukocyte production to increase before looking for objective proof. Because if she was no closer to recovery, it meant that he'd failed her, failed the children and the Prince, failed everyone.
He patted his pocket to be certain that he had the syringe then shuffled from the lab to Rose's suite. Her position in the bed remained unchanged, and she was still flushed with high fever.
He sat beside her and folded the blanket back from her arm. The lesions remained, of course, but they were no worse. He slipped on his glasses and peered down. Actually, unless he was very much mistaken, the sores appeared slightly smaller. But maybe that was just wishful thinking.
He inserted the needle into her arm gently and withdrew a small amount of blood. As he pulled the syringe away, Rose flinched.
"Rose?" He twisted his head sharply to look at her face.
Her eyes remained closed, but her lips parted. He waited anxiously, hoping for a word or two; her voice was the most beautiful sound he could imagine at the moment. However, all he heard was her harsh breathing.
Defeated and depressed, he stood and left the room with halting steps. He returned to the lab, forcing himself to prepare the slide then bend over the microscope. He anticipated nothing; there would be no change, no evidence of improvement.
Glasses in place, he stared through the lens. He blinked then slid a finger under his spectacles to rub at the dampness in his eye. Slowly he straightened, removing his glasses and folding them with care. He blinked again at the tears, then his face broke into a grin.
"Brilliant!" he cried, hopping to his feet. "Oh, Rose Tyler, you are fantastic!" He clapped his hands and whirled about.
"Doctor?" Ilaine stepped cautiously through the door. "I heard you cry out. Is something wrong?"
He wrapped his arms around her and swung her into a hug. "Nope, something's very, very right."
She looked up at him. "Is… is Rose better?"
"She will be, thanks to those lovely, luscious, lavish leukocytes lunging through her bloodstream."
"I don't understand—"
He took a step back, sobering as he recalled that Rose's recovery was only the first step. There was no guarantee at this point that he would be able to save all of the children.
"It looks like she's fighting off the illness," he explained simply.
"Then you'll be able to treat the children?"
He offered her a small, sad smile. "I hope so. I'm going to do everything that I can."
"You've already done so much," she said, voice raw with emotion and fatigue.
He wrapped an arm about her shoulder and led her back to the sickroom. "I'm not going to stop," he assured her.
While the children grew sicker, Rose's condition began to improve. When the Doctor checked on her an hour after analyzing her blood, he found her fever slightly reduced and her breathing less labored. He removed the IV line, noting that the lesions were indeed smaller and less raw.
The best sign of all, however, was the open eyes and tired smile that greeted him when he entered the room several hours later.
"Hello!" he said with a rush of joy upon seeing that she was alert again.
She tried to croak out a reply, but her throat was terribly dry. He hastened to lift her head and hold a glass of water to her lips. She was still too weak to do these small tasks for herself, but she managed to take several swallows then get a few words out.
"How're… the children?"
He lowered her head to the pillow and set the glass aside before meeting her eyes. "They're very ill, but everyone's made it this far."
"Wanna… help."
"I know, and you will, but we need to wait a little while." He rested his hand against her cheek. "You're still running a fever."
"But… 'm better," she protested feebly.
"Yes, you are," he smiled at her. "But I can't make the antitoxin until you've overcome this completely. You're not quite there yet."
She opened her mouth to object, but he silenced her with a finger across her lips.
"No arguments, Rose. Best thing you can do now is rest and start to get some of your strength back. I'm going to send for some nice, nutritious broth, and I want you to drink as much water as you can. Staying hydrated'll help a lot."
He gave her some more water, cradling her head in his hand. When she'd finished he could see that the brief visit had tired her considerably. He leaned in to press a soft kiss to her forehead.
"Sleep now, Rose."
She presented no objections. Her eyes closed immediately. He sat for a few moments watching her. Yes, she was better. Full recovery, however, was still days away.
But the children didn't even have hours, let alone days. He would need to make the antitoxin within the next seven or eight hours if it was to be of any use at all. While it was possible that Rose's system would have created sufficient antibodies by then, he knew that she would be in no condition to give up the amount of blood required to create enough antitoxin for all of the children.
He and Rose had passed one hurdle; now another equally challenging one awaited. The Doctor, genius that he was, had absolutely no idea how he and Rose could face it.
Four hours later the Doctor took another small blood sample from Rose. This time she was awake and alert when he slipped the needle into her arm. She was sitting up partially, head propped against several pillows. Her temperature was nearly normal, and her heart and lungs sounded much stronger. She'd swallowed a bowl of broth and two glasses of water, too. He was pleased with her progress and knew that she was as well.
She watched him as he dabbed at the tiny puncture after withdrawing the needle. "Think I'm almost well now," she told him.
"We'll see what your blood shows," he replied.
"I feel much better," she reassured him.
"I'm glad. But that doesn't necessarily mean that you've produced sufficient antibodies to help the children." He stood.
"Come back an' tell me as soon as you know," she urged.
He nodded then hurried away to the lab. When he saw clear evidence that her body had conquered the disease, he felt a mixture of elation and dread. Her blood held the cure, but she was so weak…
He checked the equipment needed to produce the antitoxin then returned to the sickroom. He only required a brief look at Raben to know that the child was in the final stages of the disease. Still, he forced himself to calculate the odds, to make an educated guess about how long the boy had. By all accounts, the child would not survive the day.
"Doctor!" A sharp, deep voice drew his attention.
He turned to see Wembur standing in the doorway. He wasn't surprised; the Prince, of course, would be even sicker than Raben. Still, he walked with measured steps to the door and slipped out into the hallway with the physician.
"Miss Tyler has recovered," Wember said with anxious excitement.
"Not quite—"
"But enough! I've just seen her. She's lucid and the fever's gone."
"She's still very weak."
"But she's overcome the illness. That means the cure is in her blood. There's no time to waste; the Prince's condition is extremely grave. He needs the antitoxin now."
"Rose isn't ready," the Doctor protested. "She needs to regain some strength before she's subjected to that degree of blood loss."
"That degree?" Wembur repeated. "We only need a small amount—"
"No, we don't. We need at least three pints to make sufficient doses for all the children."
"I don't understand. You said her blood would cure them."
"And it will. But not the way you're thinking." The Doctor hesitated to reveal too much information, knowing that local scientists would make the necessary discoveries on their own within the next dozen years. "There's not time to explain at the moment."
"No, there's not. This needs to be done now."
"I'm sorry, but that's not possible."
Wembur's hand shot up in a beckoning gesture and four Sentries appeared almost instantly. "The Prince needs this now," the physician reiterated. "I'm afraid you've got no choice in the matter."
The Sentries had withdrawn their weapons.
"Oh, for the love of—" the Doctor muttered. "Why must it always be guns?"
"Doctor, please," Wembur urged. "Just get on with it."
"I told you I can't! Rose isn't ready yet."
"Then just take enough to create the antitoxin for the Prince."
The Doctor glared at Wembur with no discernable effect. "Even the loss of one pint could be very dangerous to her at this point."
"It can't be helped." The physician began to walk toward Rose's suite.
The Doctor did not move.
"Doctor?" Wembur turned back.
"I won't do it until she's stronger. Give me another three hours."
When it became clear that the Time Lord had no intention of leaving the spot to which he appeared rooted, Wembur addressed the guards. "Don't let him move."
"Where the hell are you going?" the Doctor called.
"To get the Prince's cure."
The Doctor could not bear the thought of Wembur's hands upon Rose, stealing her life as he took her blood. The quack would probably have no idea when to stop, and there was a very real possibility that he could kill her.
"Wait!" the Doctor cried.
Wembur turned sharply.
"I'll do it," the Doctor capitulated. "But only one pint. That should be enough to begin treatment for the Prince and the three sickest children here. The others should be able to wait a bit longer."
Wembur nodded in satisfaction. "Thank you, Doctor. I'm glad you're a reasonable man after all."
Accompanied by Wembur and the Sentries, the Doctor gathered the necessary equipment from the lab then went to Rose's chamber.
"They stay outside," he said firmly, nodding toward the guards.
"One will enter with me," Wembur replied authoritatively. "The others may remain out here, but they'll enter immediately if I call for them."
The small party stepped into the suite. Rose had been dozing but woke, eyes widening at the unexpected visitors. "Doctor?" she questioned.
"It's all right," he replied, moving swiftly to the bed. "It's time for me to begin the antitoxin. Dr. Wembur wants to watch. Scientific curiosity and all that." He offered her a tight smile.
"Thought you said we'd have to wait a while longer," she reminded him.
He arched an eyebrow at her. "Plans change. Turns out the Prince can't wait much longer."
Rose nodded. "Get on with it then." She pulled her arm from beneath the covers.
He sat down in the chair beside the bed, taking time to wipe alcohol thoroughly at the crook of her arm. "I want you to stay as still as possible," he told her, "and don't try to sit up."
"'Kay."
Carefully he inserted the large needle beneath her skin, easily finding the vein. She didn't even flinch. He adjusted the rubber tubing then watched with a sick feeling in his gut as Rose's blood began dripping into the jar he'd set upon the floor. He squeezed her hand gently.
After a few minutes he moved his fingers to press over her wrist, awareness focused upon her pulse. She could probably spare a scant pint of blood without any severe reactions. He'd see to it that she ate again and boosted her glucose levels with some juice the instant he'd obtained the blood. She'd be left even weaker, but he thought she'd be all right. And with that one precious pint, he could create several doses of the antitoxin, enough for the Prince, Raben, and one or two other children. With luck, a single dose would be sufficient to stave off the final stage of the disease.
Tomorrow he would return to the TARDIS, guards or no guards, and fetch iron supplements, vitamins, and synthetic plasma for Rose. With those fortifications, she should be able to donate another pint of blood with relative safety.
As the jar filled slowly, Rose's pulse weakened. Her skin began to grow pale and cool. She'd been watching him and the visitors, but eventually her eyelids fluttered, and her breathing grew more shallow.
The Doctor reached for the stethoscope, the rapid motion causing the guard's hand to jerk to his gun. With an indignant glower the Time Lord lifted the instrument then adjusted it in his ears.
Rose opened her eyes when he pressed it over her heart. "What?" she asked softly, her voice only a whisper.
"Shush, Rose," he said gently. "Just rest."
She exhaled a sigh and closed her eyes again. He listened to the soft beat for several seconds then lifted his head. Purposely he set aside the instrument then pulled the needle from Rose's arm.
"That's enough," he said.
"The jar isn't full," Wembur protested.
"It's enough," the Doctor repeated. "She can't give any more. This has already seriously weakened her."
Wembur relented. "How long will it take you to create the antitoxin?"
"A couple of hours."
"Then please, get to work."
"She needs something to eat. See to it that she gets some more broth and some dry toast and juice within the next hour."
The physician nodded. "Of course." He appeared much relieved. "Thank you, Doctor."
With one final glance at Rose, the Time Lord left to begin preparing the antitoxin.
The Doctor used the sonic screwdriver to encourage the blood to clot much faster than it would on its own. Once he'd accomplished that, he transferred it to the hand-operated centrifuge. The motion of the simple machine would succeed in fully separating the serum from the red blood cells. In this serum lay the cure to the children's illness.
He spun the centrifuge, counting silently until he felt sufficient time had passed to complete the process. He lifted one of the glass tubes from the machine and grinned.
"Oh, I'm good!"
Really it was a fairly simple process, but the joy he felt at its success still warranted a comment or two. He spent a few more minutes preparing the serum for injection. He'd been left alone in the lab, which was something of a relief; having to hide his actions from curious eyes would have delayed the process.
Funny, though; he'd halfway expected Wembur to insist upon watching. Of course the Prince was terribly ill, and the physician had probably returned to the palace to attend his royal patient.
The Doctor filled four syringes completely then divided the remaining dose among two. He'd send one full syringe to the palace, then administer the other full dosages to Raben, Wess, and the other ill baby. The smaller doses would be given to the next sickest children. The other two could wait until he'd prepared another batch.
He walked quickly to the sickroom. Ilaine looked up anxiously from Raben's bedside.
"I have it," the Doctor proclaimed, holding up one of the syringes.
"Thank the Lord," she replied, clasping her hands before her.
The Doctor quickly administered the antitoxin to the young patients. "We should begin to see some improvements within the next four to six hours," he told her. "Tomorrow I'll prepare some more for the others. I think they'll be all right until then if we continue the saline."
"Thank you, Doctor. Could you find Marden and tell him that you've given the children the medicine? He was just here a few minutes ago. I think he's still in the building."
"Of course." He gave her shoulder a reassuring squeeze and spared a moment to brush a hand over Raben's head.
He met Marden in the hallway. He gave the Sentry a grin and said, "I've given the boys the antitoxin."
Marden breathed a sigh of relief. "Thank you. I was afraid you wouldn't finish… in time."
"I need to get this to Wembur," he said, holding up the remaining syringe. "Could you get one of the Sentries to take it to the palace?"
"Dr. Wembur's still here," Marden replied.
"What?"
"He's with Rose. I thought you'd asked him to stay with her—"
The Doctor's expression darkened. He was already walking toward the suite. "How long's he been in there with her?"
"I'm not sure. I saw him go in with you a couple of hours ago. I don't think he's come out."
Hearts racing with fear and ire, the Doctor flung open the door. Wembur perched in the chair beside the bed. At his feet sat a jar half filled with blood that dripped languidly from the tube in Rose's arm. The deep contrast between the dark tube and her ashen skin was distressing.
"You son of a bitch !" cried the Doctor, shoving aside the two Sentries just inside the doorway, heedless of the weapons they'd immediately drawn. He stormed to the bed, grabbing Wembur by the shoulders and wrenching him away from Rose. "What the hell have you done?" he cried.
To be continued...