A/N: I can now confirm this story is 30 chapters long, and is fully written :D
Chapter 25 – Waiting To Wake
Rose opened her eyes, confused and disorientated as she looked up to find Jackie staring down at her in concern, stroking her face.
"Rose!" she exclaimed, smiling. "How are you feelin', sweetheart?"
"Wha… What?" Rose asked groggily, struggling to sit up on the bed she had been somehow moved to.
"I'm afraid you had a bit of a shock," came a new voice from across the room, and Rose turned her head to see a curly-haired man sitting in the corner of the room on a wicker chair, writing on a clipboard in his hands. "Nothing to worry about, though. You be fine in a few minutes."
"Bloody Pete, I swear…" Jackie muttered. "Had a right go at him I did after you conked out. Imagine if you went into labour! I'd be picking your babies up off of the floor right now!"
"Mum…" Rose murmured, her mind still a bit fuzzy though she remembered quite clearly what had caused her to faint. "I asked him to… I wanted to know."
Head injuries. Lack of air. Her Doctor, lying on a table somewhere in Italy crowded by surgeons trying to save his life. He was only human, now, he couldn't pull any handy Time Lord biological tricks to try and save his own life.
And he couldn't even regenerate.
But he was in a coma, right? That was something, at least. He wasn't dead. He'd wake up… eventually.
… But would he? Had his frail new human body taken too much? He was so delicate now, and he'd been through so much…
She mentally listed all of the injuries her father had told her. Broken leg, bullet wound, internal bleeding… scars that would last forever. She didn't mind it. She didn't mind anything. Even if he was in a wheelchair and dribbling she would still love him – how could she not? She was all he had in this parallel world. No TARDIS, no nothing. Just her. And she would be there for him. Because she owed that to him, to the Doctor.
He had made a promise.
"I'll be okay, I'll see you again, I promise."
And it was all she had left to cling on to.
Pete Tyler sat outside the Italian Operating Room, leant forward, hands clutched together, staring at the floor. Opposite him was sat Gary in a mirror pose, the amount of time that had passed since the Doctor entered emergency surgery hard to discern but Pete or Gary had barely moved a muscle as they waited, both terrified for the surgeons to tell them what was happening.
Suddenly there was the sound of echoing footsteps on the corridor floor and Gary and Pete both sharply looked up to find a surgeon walking towards them, and unreadable expression on his face. Both Gary and Pete tensed.
"We have completed surgery, John is in a critical state. I'm afraid he has sustained quite a multitude of injuries," the man began in Italian. "Multiple cases of head trauma has meant he had sustained a subdural hematoma, but we now have that under control. He had intra-abdominal bleeding which we have also managed to control and have reset his fractured bones. There is evidence that fractures sustained before have not healed properly, so we have broken and reset them."
Pete and Gary both nodded, somehow sensing there was a 'but' on the horizon.
"He remains in a coma, but he will have to come out of it on his own."
"How long do you think that will take?" Gary asked anxiously.
The surgeon shook his head. "I'm afraid we cannot say for sure, each person is individual. It could be hours; it could be weeks. But we will do the best we can to make him comfortable. We will take him for an MRI as soon as he is ready to move to assess any potential brain damage, or if indeed there is even activity in his brain."
Pete simply couldn't accept the implication that his soon-to-be son-in-law – the father to his grandchildren – could be braindead.
Pete only got a glance of the Doctor as he was wheeled past towards the MRI room a few hours later. Pete had caught a fleeting glance of wild brown hair poking out from underneath a head bandage… but then again, he seemed to be about 95% bandage and about 70% tube.
The Doctor was placed, unmoving onto the scanner bed. He was given a few injections before the lights dulled, the bed slid in, and the scan commenced.
Pete watched as the MRI scans came back on the screen, and the nurse pointed out to him certain areas.
"There's definitely some activity," she said, pointing out areas to Pete who practically sighed in relief. "From where the activity is, he is very likely to be dreaming."
Pete smiled. "So no indication of when he'll wake up?"
She shook her head. "He'll wake up whenever he is ready."
Torchwood had commandeered the whole ward the Doctor was in, with four guards in the hallway, two posted on the door and six more in the ward itself, all armed to the teeth to protect him though there was probably not really any outside threat to him now.
Pete and Gary pushed their way through to the bed where the Doctor lying, impassive and dead to the world as Pete finally saw him fully for the first time since they had got to the hospital.
As Pete had thought, he was about 95% bandage and about 70% tube. He looked a lot cleaner than he had before, but still very very thin and scarred. Pete sighed, dropping in a chair beside the bed with the heart rate monitor beeping in his ears, stroking his chin thoughtfully.
"Bastards," Gary muttered from behind him, and Pete found him standing over him with his eyes fixed on the Doctor. "He was innocent."
Pete could only nod. He leant forward to the Doctor, elbows leaning on the bed as he stared at the Doctor's closed eyes. "Come on, Doctor," he urged under his breath. "For Rose."
The Doctor didn't move.
"Gary," Pete began, leaning back in his chair again. "Release a statement to the press in time for tomorrow. Tell them John Smith has been rescued and the terrorist threat is eliminated. John Smith is currently recovering in a hospital in Italy."
Gary nodded, writing all of that down. "Of course, sir. Anything else?"
Pete began to shake his head, but then stopped. "Yes. If Jackie calls, tell her I'm busy."