They stopped at the side of the bed, where the Doctor started to shrug out of his dressing gown. Martha helped him off with it and then walked over to hang it in the wardrobe. Sarah put the pile of towels down at the head of the bed and looked at him.
"Right. Now what?"
"Spread a couple of the towels out on this side of the bed."
She took a towel off the top of the pile and shook it out. It was big, as he had requested. Her best guess was six feet long and three feet wide. She spread it and then another on top of the bed cushion along the side of the bed, and looked to the Doctor for approval and additional instructions.
"Thanks," he said, shivering again. He turned and sat on the bed in the middle of the towels, placed his hands on his knees, closed his eyes, dropped his head to his chest, and took several deep breaths.
Martha walked back around the bed to stand by Sarah's side. They exchanged apprehensive glances, then looked at the Doctor.
He raised his head, opened his eyes, and looked at them.
"Oh my God!" Martha cried.
"Your eyes," Sarah said, her mouth hanging open in shock.
"What?" he asked wearily, shivering.
'They've gone grey."
He nodded and looked down at the floor. "Good."
Sarah knelt in front of him and looked up into his changed eyes again. For the first time since she'd known him, he really looked alien. It wasn't just the brown irises of his eyes that had gone dark, muddy grey. The whites of his eyes were charcoal grey as well. "Why good?" she asked, trying hard to trust him that this was a good thing.
He took another deep breath as more shivers racked his body. "Means I'm at saturation point." He lay back on the bed and stretched out along the length of the towels. He tipped his head back, took two more deep breaths, and then his whole body tensed, his back arching, fists clenched tightly, teeth showing in a grimace of exertion.
A fine sheen of sweat appeared on his skin. Sarah frowned at the sight. He'd gone pale again, all over, but a greyish sort of pale that didn't look healthy at all.
He relaxed, took a few panting breaths, then once again arched his back and tensed every muscle in his body. The sheen of sweat became discernable drops, grey drops, and Sarah suddenly realized he hadn't gone pale at all, it was the sweat that had made his skin look grey, dark grey toxin-laden sweat that started pouring out of him, now that he'd gotten the process started.
"Martha!" she called, grabbing a towel off the pile and tossing it to the younger woman. Then she took one for herself, and they both started mopping the sweat off him.
The towels they had were quickly saturated. "Four pitchers of water," Martha muttered as she ran a towel down his arm and over his chest.
They heard the door buzzer, and Sarah threw Martha a glance of entreaty. Martha dropped her towel on the foot of the bed and hurried out the door, returning in short order with another stack of clean towels.
"Roll up," Sarah said to the Doctor. He obeyed wordlessly, rolling away from her and up onto his side. Sarah quickly pulled the two drenched towels out from under him and replaced them with two fresh ones. "OK, roll back." He did, and she and Martha went back to towelling him as the toxin-laden sweat continued to stream from every pore.
The worst of it was over in five minutes. The Doctor lay quietly, limply, nearly bonelessly, as the flood of toxins slowed to a trickle and then further diminished until it was just a haze on his skin. Sarah gently blotted his cheeks and forehead and chin with the last dry tail of the last clean towel. He took a deep cleansing breath and opened his eyes.
She smiled with relief. They were his eyes again, deep soft brown irises set in clear whites. "Better?" she asked. He nodded wearily. "How are you feeling?"
"Drained," he said with a glint of tired irony in his eyes.
"I should say." Martha stood next to Sarah and gave him an appraising look.
Sarah saw where her eyes were focussed. "I think it's just the sweat. At least, I hope."
"What?" the Doctor asked.
"You look a bit more like you did when I first met you," she answered softly. "Your hair's gone grey."
He lifted a hand and ran his fingers through his hair, then pulled a disgusted face at the feel of it.
"Hang about," Sarah said. She headed out to the kitchenette and rummaged through the cupboards. She found a large bowl, filled it with warm water and carried it back to the bedroom.
"Scootch around so your head's hanging off the side of the bed," she instructed the Doctor. He looked a bit puzzled, but managed to do as asked.
"Sit up for a second first," Martha said. He did, and she pulled the second set of soaked towels out from under him. "OK, lie back down."
He obeyed, and hung his head off the edge of the bed. Sarah lifted the bowl of water up until the bottom part of his head was submerged. "Martha? Would you like to do the honors?" she asked.
Martha chuckled, then reached down and gently ruffled the Doctor's hair in the water, which promptly turned grey.
"Need a change of water," Sarah said. Martha nodded, scooped up one of the drier towels and held it under the Doctor's head as Sarah lowered the bowl and went off to the kitchen to dump the soiled water and return with fresh.
After the third change of water, the Doctor's hair was back to its usual dark brown. Martha massaged his scalp thoroughly to be sure she'd gotten all the toxic sweat out, and he moaned with pleasure. "If I weren't so tired, I'd be purring," he said, and Sarah grinned.
Martha got one of their regular towels out of the bathroom after the final rinse, wrapped it around his head like a turban, and helped him sit up and scoot around so he was again stretched out rightways of the bed. Sarah dumped the last bowl of water and came back into the bedroom. He'll be out for hours after this, she thought, seeing him lying flat on the bed, eyes closed, looking drained indeed.
Then his eyes popped open. Wide open. "I. Am. Starving," he said emphatically, his voice suddenly stronger. He sat up, levered himself out of the bed, and strode off toward the kitchen.
Sarah and Martha exchanged wide-eyed glances, then Sarah ran for the wardrobe, collected his dressing gown, and joined him and Martha in the kitchen.
He was head and shoulders into the food vault and could scarcely be interrupted in his search for victuals long enough to stick his arms into the dressing gown sleeves. Sarah finally managed to get him to shrug into it, and then tied the waist sash for him as he came up with a big bowl of mealworms. He was already stuffing them into his mouth and chewing at a great rate as he carried the bowl over to the table and sat.
Sarah still hadn't gotten over her distaste for mealworms, so she was both happy and disgusted to see him eating them with such enthusiasm. Happy because she knew it meant he was better, his body was repairing itself and needed massive amounts of nutrients to do the job. Disgusted--well, that one doesn't really need explaining, she thought as she watched him chewing up the worms.
"Does it have to be mealworms?" she asked, looking squeamish.
"Need protein," he said between chews. "Rebuild cells." He nodded at the bowl of worms. "Highest protein content."
She gave him a queasy smile. "Bon appetit."
He just nodded an acknowledgement and went on eating.
There were only a few worms left in the bowl when he suddenly stopped eating. His eyes grew wide and intense as if something were going on inside his body that had his undivided attention. "That's enough protein," he said in response to their concerned frowns. "Need...carbs. Fuel. Energy to rebuild. Sugar. Fat. Need...." His lean cheeks puffed out, then his lips did the same. He looked up at them as they stared at his face. "Banana cream pie." The words came out in a soft explosion of air. "That's what I need." Pure longing was in his voice. "Oh, I could murder a couple of banana cream pies."
"You mean a couple of pieces, right?" Martha said. He just stared at her.
"Right. Banana cream pie." Sarah knew he meant pies, not pieces, so she focussed on how to get him what he needed. "Those pink fruits. They're sort of like bananas." He nodded tentatively. "Do we have any?"
Martha got up and checked, found one, and brought it back. The Doctor peeled it and took a bite. He chewed and rolled it around in his mouth. "It has some of the micronutrients I'm craving. And some carbs." He shook his head. "It's no banana, though," he said, wistfully.
"The Craft table," Sarah said, lightbulb going off over her head. She turned to Martha. "At the studio. After the interview. Remember? They had all sorts of fruit tarts and pastries." Her mouth nearly started watering at the memory. "Not banana cream pie, but maybe something close enough."
"Right," Martha agreed. "How do we get some?"
"Call Galindor?" Sarah suggested tentatively. "He gave me his com code."
Martha laughed. "Me too!"
Sarah reached for the com unit and input the code. "We'll probably just get his people, of course. And they'll have to talk to our people before they all take a meeting on... Oh. Hello. Galindor?" She gave Martha a surprised smile and a thumbs up. "It's Sarah Jane Smith. Sarah Jane Smith. The alien. Yes." She grinned. "Good to talk to you too. Actually, we were wondering if we could get some help. Oh, that's so kind of you! Yes, well, our friend, the Doctor, he's been...ill, and we were wondering if we could get him some of those wonderful pastries you had at the studio after our interview. Yes. Yes, I think it will do him a world of good. Oh how good of you. Do you know where we are? Good. Good. As soon as possible," she said earnestly, looking at the Doctor. "It's very important. That probably sounds daft, but, well. You know. Aliens. Chalk it up to that." She beamed into the com unit. "Thank you. So much. See you soon!" She clicked off and looked at the Doctor and Martha with a big grin. "He's on his way."
"Not sending someone?"
"Nope," Sarah said happily. "He sounded thrilled to have the chance to see us again. And meet the Doctor."
The Doctor pulled the towel off his head and finger-combed his damp hair. "Not exactly at my best for meeting anyone."
Sarah gave him a commiserating look. "I know. If you want to go lie down, we'll handle it. I'm sure he'll understand."
The Doctor shook his head. "I can't rest till I get the fuel I need." He gave them a wry smile. "He'll just have to deal with me as I am."
They didn't have long to wait. The buzzer sounded in less than half an hour, and when Sarah opened the door, she quickly dodged out of the way of a plain-looking individual in a dark blue strappy kilt carrying a tray of pastries, followed by another, followed by another, followed by the flamboyant Galindor himself.
"Oh, you must be the Doctor I've heard so much about!" he said, his crest fluttering up and down with excitement, as the three porters put the trays of pastries down on the table and exited the room. "I'm so pleased to meet you."
Sarah and Martha shared a questioning look. "Hi, Galindor. Good to see you," Sarah said tentatively.
Galindor glanced quickly at her, then back at the Doctor. "So sorry to hear you've been ill. Hope it's nothing in the local environment."
"Oh, no, nothing like that," the Doctor said. He turned from Galindor to the trays of pastries. "I don't mean to be rude, but I am starving. Do you mind?"
"Hullo, Galindor," Martha said, even more tentatively than Sarah had done. She, too, got a quick glance only.
"Oh please. Eat! It would be rude not to eat when I've brought you all this food! I daresay you need something. You look positively peaky. Even for an alien!" He paused a moment and a look of doubt came into his big eyes. "Or is the way you look normal for you? I do not mean to offend."
"No," the Doctor laughed. "You're right. I am a bit peaky." He started in on the closest tray, sniffing, tasting, and then devouring the pastries that passed the sniff and taste tests. He groaned with satisfaction when he found one that hit his taste-buds just right. "Are there any more of these?" he asked, stuffing that one in his mouth as soon as he showed it to Galindor.
"Here, Doctor," Sarah said, finding some others like it on the other trays and handing them to him.
"Oooh, thank you." He practically inhaled them, then went back to sniffing and tasting the other varieties.
"Now, you eat!" Galindor said, approvingly. "Your hens just pick. I thought they didn't like the food. Could have knocked me over with a frond when I got the call just now."
"Humans have a slower metabolism than your people," the Doctor said around a mouthful of pastry. "They don't burn calories anywhere near the rate you do. So they can't eat the way you do."
"Ah. But you?"
"I don't usually eat like this either." He found another pastry that suited his needs, wolfed it and looked for more like it. "Just need the calories and nutrients right now to heal myself."
Galindor's mobile com unit chimed and he excused himself, stepping outside to take the call.
"Why is he ignoring us?" Sarah asked as soon as he was out of the room. "He likes us. Talked a blue streak to us at the studio. He interviewed us, for God's sake!"
"Told you," the Doctor said, chewing on his latest find. "It's considered improper for a man to speak to another man's hens in his presence in this culture." He swallowed, then took another pastry from the tray. "These really are good. Brilliant idea, Sarah."
Sarah allowed herself a moment to bask in his praise. "No banana cream pie, though."
"Close enough in a pinch," he assured her. He chewed and swallowed, then continued. "Tell you what. If I say I'm tired and have to go lie down...which, by the way, is true...I'll bet you anything as soon as I'm in the bedroom with the door closed he'll talk your ears off."
Sarah just heard the 'I'm tired' part. "You've got what you need from the pastries?"
He nodded. "Just need some serious kip now to process it all."
Galindor came back in then, offering effusive apologies to the Doctor for the interruption. The Doctor smiled, then, with a glance at his companions, excused himself to the bedroom and closed the door.
Sarah felt a tug at her heart as he disappeared from sight. He did look peaky.
"Well!" Galindor turned to her and Martha and spread his comb with delight. "So good to see you two again! Tell me what's happened to your Doctor. What a shame for him to fall ill when you were having such a nice visit with us. I hope it isn't from the work he did in the flood and mudslides. I heard he did the work of ten men that first night, and then again the next two days when he didn't have to at all, just pitched right in as if he were one of us. What a remarkable creature! Does he always have the circles around his eyes? You two don't. But then we don't all have the same markings either, I'm being silly aren't I..."
Be careful what you ask for, Sarah thought, as she listened, nodded, and tried to get a word in here and there. You might get it.