Sink or Swim
"How long has it been?" the Doctor said quietly, staring down at Yaz's still form.
Nobody answered her.
"HOW LONG?"
She turned on them, bright tears streaking down her face.
"She's been down nearly twenty minutes," Ianto muttered, looking down at his pocket watch.
"Why've you stopped then?" she shot at Owen, her voice hot and rasping "You can't stop!"
"We, um, well," he looked crestfallen, glancing quickly round at the others, "Look, twenty minutes is a long time with no –"
"We're not just GIVING UP on her!" a grief-fuelled-fury powered through her, "Do you hear me? WE'RE NOT BLOODY GIVING UP!"
Owen flinched as though she'd slapped him.
"Look, I don't think –"
"Then start re-thinking and MOVE!" she shoved him aside and knelt down to the still form on the floor. Locking her hands together, she found the centre of Yaz's chest and began a new set of compressions, counting in her head.
One… two… three…
She glanced up at the younger woman's face and instantly wished she hadn't. With every movement, she could see Yaz's head lolling lifelessly from side to side.
Nine… ten… eleven…
"Come on…" she muttered, gritting her teeth.
Eighteen… nineteen… twenty…
She couldn't tear her eyes away from the blue-tinge of Yaz's lips, water still clinging to them, her face ghostly pale.
Twenty-four… twenty-five… twenty-six…
The cold stillness of the chest below her palms was sickening, the beat-less heart no longer bringing blood rushing to those soft cheeks.
Twenty-nine… thirty…
The Doctor drew back, tilting Yaz's head back and pinching her nose before lowering her mouth to meet icy lips. As she blew two warming breaths in, watching for the rise and fall of the lifeless chest, she felt the tears running down her cheeks, adding to the saltiness of Yaz's lips.
This can't be it, she thought uncomprehending, this can't be our last kiss.
Seeing the chest rise and fall had given her a taste of hope, but now it was still once again. In an instant the Doctor was back on Yaz's chest again, knowing that this was her only chance, their only chance. She started to count again, not able to look at the lolling head.
One… two… three…
She could feel the stares of the team around her, feel their own grief pressing in on her.
Eleven… twelve… thirteen
"Are you lot just gonna stand there?" she spat, trying not to lose count.
Nineteen… twenty… twenty-one…
"I really don't see how –"
"Then shut-up and think, Tosh!"
Twenty-eight… twenty-nine… thirty…
She bent over Yaz once again, sealing their mouths together and forcing precious, warm oxygen into her. The chest rose and dipped, once, twice, then stilled again.
One… two… three…
Her arms were sore, but she couldn't stop.
Eight… nine… ten…
"COME ON, THINK!"
Thirteen… fourteen… fifteen…
"I might have something."
She looked up at Owen, desperate in small hope.
Twenty… twenty-one… twenty-two…
"Right, we need to get her down to the lab," he spoke quickly, glancing at the others.
"I'll get the stretcher."
"I'll help."
"Heaters? Blankets? Let's go."
Around her, the Doctor could sense things movement, the team finally snapping into action. But she had to keep counting, keep concentrating.
Twenty-nine… Thirty…
Another two rescue breaths, mouth pressed tightly to hers, forcing her airways open. There was still no response, and when she moved away, Yaz's jaw fell back open slackly.
Wiping away the tears that blurred her vision, she shifted ready to recommence compressions, but found Jack already there.
"I got this - one, two, three," he counted out loud as he leant over Yaz's still form.
The Doctor sat back on her heels, passing a hand across her eyes again. Her arms and shoulders ached terribly, and she rubbed them, feeling weary and small. She watched Jack, static buzzing in her ears, trying to block out the noise of Yaz's leather jacket rubbing wetly against the hard pavement.
"- twenty-nine, thirty!" he looked up at her as he paused, face red with effort.
She bent down again and pressed her mouth once again to Yaz's in a cruel mockery of a kiss. Two lungfuls of air delivered, she drew back again, and watched as Jack returned his locked hands to the young officer's chest.
The next few minutes passed by in a haze of tears and aching repetition, hope growing smaller by the second. They had to alternate a few times as they both tired quickly, and the Doctor felt nothing as she watched Jack seal his mouth to Yaz's inflating her chest twice briefly. She was numb to it all. There was no romance in death, there never was.
"Get her on here, now!"
She heard Owen shout and a sudden flurry of activity descended all around her. She watched vaguely as Yaz rose up, hands lifting her as though she weighed no more than a kitten and depositing her on the gurney with a wet slap. Her arm rolled off, ragdoll-like, swinging limply against the metal trolley.
Gwen had already climbed up onto the stretcher and was straddling the lifeless form, pressing down hard on her chest. The Doctor heard the unmistakable snap of a rib breaking and she turned away to lean against the railings, vomiting feebly.
"I've got you," she felt strong arms around her waist, and leaned back, wiping a sleeve across her mouth. She let Jack drag her upright, holding on to him for support, her knuckles white as she gripped his coat.
"Jack, I can't –"
"We're not giving up, you can't give up," he held her, fixing her with intense blue eyes, "Now buckle up and –"
"- get a shift on?" she offered up weakly.
"Sure," he nodded, agreeing to whatever would get her moving fastest, "now let's go!"
They half-ran, half-stumbled across the Plass, boots thudding across the paving-stones before skidding to a halt at the lift-entrance.
"Where are they? Where have they taken her?" the Doctor looked around wildly, nausea rising once more.
"It's ok – they had to take her around – the lift is too small," Jack calmed her, wrapping an arm around her shoulder as the lift began its descent. He was concerned she might fling herself off before it touched down.
As soon as the stone-lift clunked against the metal floor, the Doctor was off, following the crashing noises emanating from Owen's lab. Taking the stairs two at a time, she half-fell on the medic as he bent to connect up several cables.
"Oi!" he snapped at her, "watch yourself – or do you not want me to try and save your girlfriend?"
"Owen!" the collective outrage echoed around the small room.
"Alright, I'm sorry – look, just hold this?" he apologised, holding out a collection of wires and metal clips.
The Doctor held them, feeling fuzzy-headed, trying to take it all in. Tosh stood over Yaz's chest, red and panting with the effort of compressions. Gwen stood nearby, holding a rugby-ball sized bag which was connected to several inches of plastic tubing sticking out of the brunette's mouth. The Welsh officer squeezed a long breath out of the bag every few seconds, and Yaz's chest rose and fell with the air. Meanwhile, Ianto had covered Yaz's lower half with as many heated blankets as he could find, and now stepped over to join Tosh, ready to take over.
"What can I do?" Jack pushed past her, and Owen muttered a few words, pointing at the wires.
They switched positions and as the American hastily uncoiled cables and plugged in various monitors, Owen took the wires from her and began attaching them to lifeless wrists and ankles. The Doctor stood there, numbly, watching as he ripped open Yaz's shirt, exposing dark, mottled skin, and a damp, lacy bra.
She blinked slowly, feeling as far removed from it all as though she were watching the action from afar, on some distant television channel. The monitors lit up with numbers and bleeps, and one, very telling flat-line.
"Shit," she heard Owen mutter, as he tightened a tourniquet around Yaz's arm, lightly smacking the back of her hand.
Holding a syringe between his teeth, he slid a cannula into the biggest vein he could find and taped it down perfunctorily. As he injected a drug, he looked up at the monitors.
"Adrenaline given at 12.58, Ianto, start your stopwatch."
Nodding briefly, Ianto pulled the watch out of his waistcoat pocket, pressing it and stepping aside to let Jack take over the CPR.
Meanwhile, Owen scrambled back to his equipment trolley, pulling out bags of clear fluid and vials of medication, all the while keeping a beady eye on the monitors.
"Is there anything I can do?" the Doctor's voice sounded hollow in her head.
"Yeah," Owen mumbled through a mouthful of plastic tubing, "get her clothes off."
"What?" the blonde almost slapped him in shock.
Rolling his eyes at her obvious misunderstanding, he spat the tubing out and corrected her.
"Honestly, what has Gwen been telling you about me? We need to get her warm and those damp jeans aren't helping."
"Oh," the Doctor swallowed and shook herself, "right, yeah."
Moving to Yaz's side, she felt for the buckle of her belt, fingers trembling with fatigue and worry.
"I'm so sorry," she whispered to the still form, "this isn't how I thought this would go."
"Doc, this is no time for romance," Jack panted, screwing up his face with the effort of continued chest compressions, "just do it and quickly."
Nodding, the Doctor gave her numb fingers a quick squeeze before shuffling Yaz's soaked jeans, boots, and socks off, trying her best to preserve what little dignity was left to her companion. Covering her with several layers of woollen blanket, she moved up, awkwardly sliding one arm then the other out of the leather jacket and shirt sleeves. Owen helped her shift tug the clothing out from underneath her back with a quick roll, before Gwen switched with Jack and continued the compressions.
Hearing a rustle, she looked over to see Ianto struggling with a plastic, sheet, attaching one end to some sort of generator. When the sheet inflated into tubes, he placed it over Yaz's lower half.
"Warming her up," he answered the Doctor's unasked question, before turning back to Owen. "Three minutes."
"Thanks," the dark-haired medic bent picked another syringe out of the drawer and injected another ampule of medication into Yaz's arm.
The screen still showed an endless, glowing straight line.
"Come on, come on," he muttered, pulling yet another drawer open and hanging a bag of fluid to a short metal pole, running a thin plastic tube from it through a whirring machine, and into the cannula.
"You're gonna drown her," the Doctor stepped forward, panicked.
"She needs this," he held her wrist, gently but firmly, "we need to dry her lungs out – this will help."
"He may be an arse, but he knows what he's doing," Gwen spoke up as she stepped away, letting Tosh take over.
"Six minutes," Ianto called, showing them his watch.
Owen bent once more, slowly pushing the tiny ampule of adrenaline into Yaz's vein.
They stood back, staring at the screen, willing it to change.
The monitor blipped once at them, and for a moment the tiniest positive deflection flashed in glowing green, before the flat-line resumed once more.
"Come on, COME ON!" Owen shouted, slamming his fist onto the top of the machine.
"She's been down nearly thirty-five minutes now," Ianto said softly, staring down at his watch.
"What and you think we should stop?" Jack narrowed his eyebrows at them.
Gwen opened her mouth but said nothing, and Tosh kept her eyes fixed on her locked palms as she puffed her cheeks out with the effort.
"Please," the Doctor's voice was raw and crackled with emotion, "please don't stop. She wouldn't."
Frowning, Owen pressed a stethoscope to the bare skin of Yaz's chest, listening carefully. Then he pulled out his phone and lifted her eyelids carefully, shining the camera-flash into them.
"The Doc's right," he said, drawing away, "she's still got bibasal crackles but they don't sound as bad as they did and her pupils are still reacting. She's still pretty icy-cold – I say we give her a bit longer."
The Doctor flung herself at him, hugging the scrawny man so tightly she almost winded him.
"Gerroff," he tried to extricate himself, patting her arm gently.
"Nine minutes."
Sliding out from under her grip, he pulled a fourth syringe and pushed another milligram into Yaz.
They held their breath, watching the thin green line, Tosh's panting and the rhythmic squeak of the gurney filling the room.
"Come back to me,"the Doctor choked softly, tears running unchecked down her cheek, "I can't do this without you, with no Yaz."
The line wavered.
*** TO BE CONTINUED ***