Nurse Lafitte looked up from her desk, eyes widening in shock as she took in the limp, bleeding girl in the Doctor's arms.
"Oh my God," she cried, hurrying toward him. "What happened?"
"Her wrists are cut," he replied tersely, long legs moving in swift strides down the hall.
"She attempted suicide?"
"No!" he snapped, "of course not. But someone wanted us to think she did."
"What? Who would—"
"Not now." He was already kicking open the door to the infirmary. He lay Rose upon the examination couch and instructed, "Elevate her right wrist, and keep pressure on the wound."
The nurse obeyed immediately, holding a thick gauze pad firmly over the injury. He pulled the sonic screwdriver from his pocket, switched it on and made a quick adjustment, then aimed the narrow, green beam at the deep incision on Rose's left wrist.
"What are you doing?" the nurse asked, clearly surprised by his actions.
"Cauterizing the wound—fastest way to stop the bleeding."
"But…" Her eyes watched the strange little device in his hand. "What is that thing?"
"New type of equipment," he replied succinctly; he didn't plan to waste precious time with needless explanations.
The blood had ceased flowing from Rose's right wrist, and he moved on to the left. Within less than half a minute the bleeding stopped. He pressed his fingers over her carotid artery again, noting the pallor and coolness of her skin.
"She's hypovolemic," he said. "Get me a saline IV."
"Yes, Doctor."
For all her primness and propriety the previous day, Nurse Lafitte proved efficient and helpful as she brought the requested items and provided assistance as needed. The Doctor would not risk Rose to any hands but his own, of course, and the nurse seemed to understand.
She did not protest as he inserted the IV line himself and taped it in place. She gathered suture supplies then stood back to provide him with space as he solicitously yet deftly repaired the damage to Rose's right wrist. While he could heal her much faster within the TARDIS's infirmary, the time required to reach his ship would leave Rose vulnerable. He'd use the dermal regenerator as soon as feasible, though, to ensure rapid and complete healing. For now, old-fashioned sutures would suffice.
After he'd closed the wicked gash, he cleaned the remaining blood away from her arm and bandaged the wound carefully. He performed the same treatment on her left wrist. Once it was neatly bandaged, he surveyed her still, pale form.
Her pulse was somewhat stronger thanks to the fluid boost from the IV. He spared a few moments to check her for any other injuries, noting with barely suppressed ire the blood that stained her thighs and the hem of her gown.
He lifted her torso gently, saying, "Help me get this off of her."
Nurse Lafitte complied without question, removing the soiled nightgown with practiced ease. She brought a blanket and set it over the unconscious young woman as he lay her down again. Quickly yet proficiently she used a warm cloth to clean the blood from Rose's legs then rearranged the blanket to cover her fully.
"I'll get her a fresh nightgown," she offered, all concerns about decorum forgotten in the urgency of the situation. "Unless you need anything else right now?"
"No," he replied, his attention entirely upon Rose.
The nurse left. He scanned Rose with the sonic screwdriver to reassure himself that she was not in any grave danger. Thankfully he had reached her in time, but only just. If she had lost even a little more blood—if he'd found her even five minutes later—
The Doctor inhaled sharply, the gravity of the situation sinking in fully. He took her cold, limp hand in his and moved his thumb softly over her skin.
She made a small noise, something between a moan and a sigh. His eyes moved immediately to her face.
"Rose?"
Her eyelids fluttered, lashes dark against her ashen cheeks. "Doctor?" she whispered.
"Yes, Rose. I'm here, and everything's all right. You're going to be fine."
She opened her eyes; her gaze was glassy but she found his face. He smiled at her.
"She…" Rose began.
"Sshh. Don't talk just yet. Give yourself a little time to get some strength back."
Her eyes moved languidly to the hand he held. "Cut," she rasped.
"I know, but I've sorted it. You'll be good as new before you know it." He settled his palm softly over her brow. "Just rest, Rose."
She shook her head weakly. "No…" Visibly mustering a bit of energy, she swallowed then said, "Nurse Lebou… did it."
"I gathered as much."
"But she also…hit him. Did you find… Dr. Poile?"
"No. Was he in the basement with you?"
"Mmm. Down an old corridor… by the big metal door."
"All right. I'll send someone to check." He stroked her cheek; her skin was warming gradually.
Her efforts to speak had exhausted her, and Rose's eyes began to close. Nurse Lafitte returned then with the nightgown and a robe, which she hung on a hook. The Doctor gave her a few moments to slip the nightgown over Rose's head then said, "Get one of the orderlies and go to the basement. Dr. Poile may be down there and hurt."
"What?"
"Rose was attacked, and so was he. She said he's down one of the old corridors, near a large metal door."
The nurse nodded, already moving toward the doorway. But Rose's fingers tightened slightly around his hand, and her eyes opened again.
"Be careful," she croaked.
"Nurse Lebou's gone," he reassured her, convinced that the culprit had driven away. With luck she'd already been apprehended…
"No," Rose said. "The door… there's somethin'… behind the door."
Immediately the Doctor understood. "Go as quickly as you can, and if you find Poile just get him away as quickly as you can," he instructed the nurse.
She was clearly apprehensive, but she left, promising to use caution and secure the services of the two orderlies on duty upstairs.
"You need to go," Rose persisted, "an' see… what it is."
"I will, Rose," he said. "But right now, I need to stay here with you."
"'M all right."
She wasn't, of course, but he took her hand gently and replied, "Yes."
In his anxious haste to treat her injuries, the Doctor's motions and observations had been rapid and efficient. His sole focus had been on the cuts and the blood loss. But now he took a few moments to study her eyes, noting the tight contraction of her pupils. He leaned in a bit to sniff at her face.
"Ick. Chloroform," he commented with a grimace.
"Yeah, thought it was somethin' like that," she said.
He sighed. "It'd have to be. I knew you wouldn't sit still for that." He glanced at one of her wrists.
"How bad?" she asked softly.
He smiled reassuringly. "Not so very. Nothing I can't sort back in the TARDIS. You're going to feel weak for a little while, but the fluids'll help."
She was growing more alert by the minute. Her gaze moved to the nearest cabinet then back to him. "Pills didn't work," she reported.
"Hmm?"
"Your pills. They didn't stop the chloroform from affectin' me."
"Oh, right. No, they wouldn't. It didn't occur to me that anyone would try to give you anything that would increase gamma-aminobutyric neurotansmission."
"Gammama…what?"
He patted her hand. "It's not important." Almost unconsciously his fingers moved to press over the pulse point just below the bandage. She was getting stronger, but the soft flutter beneath his fingertips reminded him of the gravity of the situation. "What the hell were you doing down in the basement, anyway?"
"Dr. Poile came to see me just after you left. He knew I'd been fakin' the whole time—thought I was sent to investigate what's been goin' on here. He told me he'd found a woman dead in the basement a few days ago. She had some sort of strange head wound like nothing he'd ever seen before. He'd heard something, too, behind that big, heavy door, something he thought shouldn't be there. We went down to see. Didn't you get the note I left?"
The Time Lord shook his head. "No. I imagine Nurse Lebou took it after she drugged Mr. Drake then pulled out his IV to get me upstairs."
Rose wriggled a bit, trying to shift the blanket to cover her legs. "Feet're cold," she murmured as he readjusted the cover.
"You've lost one of your slippers," he said, noticing for the first time that she had one bare foot. He pulled off the other slipper then tucked the blanket around her feet.
The rapid clicking of heels on the hallway linoleum alerted them to Nurse Lafitte's return. The expression on her face notified them of her discovery, even before the tearful words spilled out.
"He's dead," she sniffed. "His head—" She swallowed back a sob, clearly trying to keep herself composed. "There was a lead pipe nearby."
"And a single white slipper," the Doctor added.
The nurse blinked. "How did you know that?"
"It's Rose's," he replied, nodding toward him companion. "Lebou must've wanted it to appear that Rose attacked Poile then killed herself."
"Did you see anything else?" Rose asked.
"Like what?" replied the nurse.
Rose clarified, "Anything out of the ordinary, anything near the door."
"No. We just found Dr. Poile and pulled him away, out of the corridor as you said. The orderlies have taken him to his office, and I'll phone the coroner. But I thought you'd want to know."
The Doctor and Rose both nodded somberly, then he said, "Make sure no one else goes into the basement."
Nurse Lafitte's chin dipped in agreement as she stepped out the door.
To be continued...