Hey all. I know this story just seems to be dragging on and on, and I know a reason not as many people are reading is because the chapters are too long and time-consuming... but I just want to let you know that the end is in sight. My goal for this story—and by goal I mean limit—is forty-three chapters. I decided that once it got past twenty, I think, and that is why I cram so much more into each chapter than perhaps there should be.

Well, I suppose four reviews is better than three, aye?

Thanks to: ArmoredSoul and RespectTheSporks

Captain Rika Kisuktai: Well, not exactly. But we'll get into that later.

Little Miss Sparrow: And did you enjoy that first episode? Unfortunately, the first episodes (of the more recent series) are of the incarnation previous to the one showing up in this story, so you'll have to watch through to the second season if you want to meet our favourite alien. I'm glad you were inspired to watch it, and I wonder how you enjoy it?

Enjoy!

Disclaimer: No one reads it, so I can't be costing you money. Don't sue!!

Chapter Thirty-Six: Muffins are Always the Answer

She choked back a sob, hopes dashed. "I'm so sorry, James," she whispered. "I got the wrong doctor."

"The wrong doctor, but maybe not the wrong person," said the Doctor. "I take it I'm here because you need my help. Right, who is it then?"

"He's this way." Buoyed a little by his energy and eagerness to help, she led him below to the cabin.

"What year is it?" he wondered as he climbed down the ladder.

She shrugged. "Mm-mm."

"You don't live here, I take it?"

"I'm visiting. The best I know is late 1700s. I was never curious enough to find out for sure, but I want to say 60s or 70s."

"That's what I was thinking. It smells like it." They entered the cabin. "That him?" he nodded to the lifeless form.

"Aye. Groves, this is the Doctor."

"Wonderful! A doctor is just what we need," cried Theodore, who as yet did not understand this new twist on their situation.

"How are you with poison?"

"Well—I may know a thing or two," he replied with an easy modesty. "What's 'is name?"

"James."

"'Ello, James, I'm the Doctor. I'm here to help," he said as he sat down beside his 'patient' to begin an examination.

"Here. These might help." He was handed the stethoscope and other instruments. He looked up to see it was Jack, and his surprise was evident.

"'Ow long 'ave you been 'ere?"

Harkness smiled. "The whole time."

"She got you too, eh?"

"Something like that."

So the Doctor listened to his heart and breathing and everything else. "Slow and shallow. Never a good sign."

"It saps his strength. Either he'll stop breathing or his heart will stop," Jack explained with regard to the poison. "If I knew what the compound was, I'd be able to fight it, but even with the blood sample, I can't tell what it is without the lab back at the Hub."

"You have a blood sample, then? Great, let me have a look."

"Microscope's in the galley." The Doctor left, followed by Jack, Groves, and Demon.

Alone with her nephew, Amy gently laid her cheek on his chest. Just as the Doctor had said, his heart beat was weak and slow, his breathing shallow. He might survive the night if Fate would allow it, but even that was unlikely.

A few minutes later, she joined them in the galley, where the Doctor was sitting at the table examining the blood through the microscope. Theodore had returned topside to man the tiller, and she knew he would call if he needed anyone in the sails. Jack was busy preparing lunch; chicken from the smell of it. And Demon, who had been sitting on the table, hopped down and trotted into the cabin to resume his careful watch over James.

"How's it coming?" she asked.

"Well—I can't be sure, acsh'ly. I can see the poison, but it's in clumps. I can't tell if they're individual particles or groups of particles. Give me a little time. I should have it by the time we 'ave dinner."

She looked at Jack in apprehension. "Dinner's in the middle of the day, right?"

"Yeah. Supper's the one in the evening."

Phew. She'd find out soon, then. Still, she steeled herself against rising hopes—she could not let herself be hopeful now; if the Doctor failed, which he could well do, then she would have to accept the fact all over again. She focused instead on the enticing aroma of the chicken, and fell to daydreaming about her own little world. As she was reaching out to touch a foxalope, Jack served their lunch, and the Doctor made an exclamation. "What is it?"

"I can't be certain yet, but I think I know. I just need to increase the magnification by five thousand percent," here he fiddled with his sonic screwdriver, with its blue light and weird noises—the lass stared at it in an almost hungry wonder, being as big a fan as she really was—and looked again. "It's made up of complex compounds that inhibit strength, but not energy, so even if you gave him caffeine, nothing would happen. You'll need something to give him strength and–yes!"

"What?" He had startled Amy.

"This chicken is really good!"

"Great. Can we focus, please?" When one is divulging life-saving information, it is best not to get distracted.

"Well it is." He looked back into the scope. "Ahh, this is Pirodet—I learned about it in the year four million sixty-eight-point-four gamma-B, on a space station orbiting Barcelona. Ahh, good times, that."

"It has a name?"

"It was mass produced."

"What for?!"

"What? It was used as rat poison."

"Something that deadly for rats?"

"They were giant radioactive mutant rats."

She almost laughed, but caught herself. This was no time for— "So you know how to fight it, then?" She could not be hopeful. She could not be hopeful.

"Sure!" Yes! "But it might not work, considering the length of time it's been in him."

"Doesn't matter. There's still a chance." She was hopeful in spite of herself. "What's the cure? What do we have to do?"

"There is a mixture of ingredients that should counteract the poison: cinnamon, nutmeg, raising, walnuts, and sweet potatoes—not yams, sweet potatoes."

"Can I put those ingredients in muffin form?"

"Brilliant. I love sweet potato muffins."

His smile was contagious, and the three of them set to whipping up a batch of the delicious baked goods. "All right. First off, this stove isn't going to cut it. We're gonna need an oven," said Jack, who had spent the last few months serving as a personal cook. "Amy, if you please."

"Surely." She laid the flat of her hand against the side of the stove, and before their eyes it melted into an oven.

"Molecular reconstruction," observed the Doctor. "Nice trick. How'd you do it?"

She grinned. "Magic." He frowned. "You can science it up all you want, but I'm still gonna call it magic."

"Hmm."

"Now, what were those ingredients again?"

"Right. Cinnamon, nutmeg, raisins, walnuts, and sweet potatoes."

"Right. Not yams."

"If we're making muffins, we'll need eggs, milk, flour, sugar, and baking soda, at least," said Harkness.

"Let's make things easier; why don't I just take a gander at the recipe?" she pulled a white card out of the air. "Let's see here. 'If the subject fails to respond, use force to liberate his true disposition.' Nope, that doesn't help at all." She flipped the card over. "Here we are." And, diligently reading the recipe to herself, she snapped her fingers, and the ingredients were present

"What are you using—is it a materialization beam? Some sort of molecular rearranging gun? Pockets that are bugger on the inside?"

She shrugged. "Just me." And so, they set to work measuring and mixing the ingredients.

"So," began the Doctor as they were squelching the batter with their hands, "why can't you just 'magic' up the muffins too? It would go much faster."

"'Cause I've got this creeping suspicion that they won't work if they're made with magic, and those feelings are usually right."

"Well. Can't argue with instinct. Are those potatoes cooked yet?"

Amy sighed, not really knowing what she was feeling. Here was one of the most powerful beings in a Realm—possibly even a Guardian, as he wasn't human—baking. Muffins. Muffins that would counteract a poison developed millions of years into the future and save the man who was slowly dying in the next room. Oh God. What's happening here?

"Not yet," Jack replied. "It takes a while to soften them up enough."

"Should've gotten them canned," he muttered. "So! I can't help but notice my TARDIS didn't come with me. How'd you get me here?"

"I'm not really sure, actually. I sent up a beacon for a doctor and got you."

"Yes, but how do I get back? I can't travel myself without my TARDIS. And I'd get bored if I tried waiting until the time I was in."

"You can wait all you like, but even with your space ship you couldn't get back."

"What do you mean?" came the suspicion.

"We're in another universe," Jack supplied.

The Doctor quit his mixing with alarm and rounded on Harkness. "And jus' how did that happen? How could you do this? You know what it does to the universes." He paused. "And how did you get here anyway? Where is it? Give it here." Grudgingly, yet not without remorse, Jack went to his coat on the table and took the time-hopper out of the pocket. The Doctor snatched it from him with a glare. "I told you not to use this—I specifically told you not to use this. I broke it for a reason."

"You never said this would happen. And besides, how else was I supposed to find out if it worked?"

"You never needed it to work. You never needed to leave Cardiff. And now you've dragged me here, too. Two ugly holes ripped in the boundaries between our universes. Oh you just couldn't help yourself, could you?"

"Stop it!" Amy cried. "This isn't going to solve anything."

"Yes, but now there are two holes in the universe, which will become four for the return trip, however we're getting back. You knew better, Jack. You knew better, and you still did it."

"Well how was I supposta know it would take me to an alternate universe?"

"Lack of knowledge is usually a good reason not to try it in the first place."

"Enough! None of this matters right now. You can settle your differences later, but right now, there's a man in there dying," she jabbed a thumb over her shoulder. "And he didn't bring you here, anyway. I did."

"That doesn't change the holes in our universes."

"Yes it does. Because my way of travel is harmless."

"What do you mean?" he frowned, eyebrows furrowing. "Just who are you, anyway?"

"I'm Cap'n Jack Sparrow—er... I'm a traveler. We are. We travel across the Realms."

"And it doesn't weaken the borders? I don't believe that."

"Well tough. I can feel it as we cross over; nothing happens to it."

"You can feel it?" He suddenly wasn't so sure of his argument. "How can you travel like that anyway?"

"Magic," she grinned. "And on that bombshell, let's move on." And they returned to their baking where the potatoes had softened and could be added to the mix once they had been mashed. At last, they spooned the batter into the baking sheet and put it into the oven.

"Twen'y minuted in there an' they should be ready to go."

"Great," she sighed with relief.

"So you can get us back when we're done?"

"I dunno. I'm not really sure how I got you here in the first place, to be honest. But don't worry. James says I have a knack for figuring things out. Sometimes." She fell silent, and the delicious aroma began to permeate the air. They all breathed deep, and she fell to thinking—or rather, feeling. The Doctor had said it might not work; but she wasn't getting any bad vibes. So it would have to work. James would have to be all right after all. Don't hope. Don't you dare hope, she scolded herself. Your intuition has been wrong before, and it could well do now. The muffins might not work, and then it will just be harder because we had such a chance. Don't jinx anything. Don't hope. Don't do a thing. Don't even—.

Ping!

The muffins were done. Theodore, drawn by the smell, had joined them.

Please God let this work, she prayed as she carried the plate of warm muffins into the cabin. Only one lantern was lit, and its flame flickered as if blown by an invisible wind.

"All right, James," said the Doctor, taking up a seat by the bed, "Let's see if this works."

Amy took a bite out of a muffin, and chewed it to mush. Lifting his head, she pressed their lips together and pushed the food into his mouth—the same way mothers had always fed their children long, long ago. She had been feeding him like this the last couple days—at first he had been startled, but had quickly realised she was only keeping her promise. But now, he could barely swallow the food, even in mush form. "How many should I give him?"

The Doctor took a moment to calculate the ratios in his head. "About six."

"And how long until we find out if it works?" asked Groves.

"Once he starts digesting them, it should start having an immediate effect. 'Alf an hour or so."

She looked at Demon, who was lying at the man's side. "Has he got that long?"

"He had plenty of time."

Nodding, she went pack to the process of feeding him. It went slowly: she had to take very small bites so that it would be easier for him to swallow. The first muffin alone took several minutes. Half an hour had passed long before they were finished. "Is anything happening?" she asked the cat.

"Nothing significant."

"It should be having a huge effect by now," the Doctor said ponderously. "I'm so sorry. The poison's been in him too long."

"No. Don't tell me that. There must be something else!"

"I'm not giving up yet. Let me try something." He took a seat on the mattress and placed his hands on either side of James' head so that his index and middle fingers were on his temples. He closed his eyes as he usually did, and opened the door between their minds. "Don't be startled. I'm just taking a look at your insides," he told the invalid.

"You can do that?"

"I can follow the neural receptors in his brain out to the rest of his body. I can hear what he's thinking and feel what he's feeling." Several minutes passed. "I know what to do, but I don't know how," he said as he withdrew.

"What needs to be done?"

"The poison is not mixed in with his blood; it floats on it, like oil on water. If I can diverge the poison to flow out through his pores, he should be fine. But it's not something I know how to do. Amy, I'm not sure what you abilities make you capable of, but I think it's all up to you now."

"I'll try anything."

"I'll be here to guide you every step of the way." Letting out a deep breath, she nodded. "I can travel throughout his body once I make a connection with his mind. If you're there with me, I can tell you what you need to do. Now," he raised his hands to touch her head—but she stopped him, connecting on her own. "Telepathy. What else can you do?"

"We're about to find out." And she connected with James. "I'm here," she reassured him.

"I'm glad." He did not sound so tired at all, and her fears of draining him further through thought were put to rest.

"Right, follow me," said the Doctor, grabbing her imaginary hand and leading her out of his mind; colours blurred as they moved very swiftly, and when they stopped, she found herself looking down a vein or artery as though it were a hallway. There was a great pounding behind her, and she knew they were at his heart. "All the blood in his body has to come through here. If you can sift the poison out as it goes, you should be able to save him."

"I thought we were going to flush it out through his pores."

"There's no way of doing that without flushing the blood out also. This is less complicated and less risky."

"Right. How long does it take for all the blood to circulate?"

"At this rate? About five minutes, I suppose."

"Great. And anything we miss will come right back at us. Let's get to work!" With careful guidance from the Doctor—who really wasn't an actual doctor—she began to sift the poison out from the blood, forcing it out of existence as she went. In a little more than ninety minutes, they had gotten all of it—the last several minutes had been spent looking for anything they could possibly have missed. "How are you feeling, James?" she asked him, feeling much cheered. She heard a breath of thought echo through her mind, but it was like a sigh and she couldn't make it out. "Huh?"

"Fading..."

Her spirits plummeted, and her mind returned to her body at such a speed that she was literally pushed backwards. "It isn't having any effect!"

"Oy—that's my ear you're yellin' in," the Doctor complained.

"He's weaker now than ever."

"He still has a few hours," Demon assured her. "There is still time to figure this out."

She looked at the cat. "But what? Everything we try just ends up being a waste of time."

"Yes—no..." The Doctor was busy thinking. "Yyyes! Nothing we did had any effect on the poison directly, that much is true—but, it had effects in other ways. The sweet potato muffins stopped the symptoms from getting worse; they stopped the body from absorbing any more poison out of the blood. That way, we could get rid of all the poison running through his body so it couldn't be absorbed later when the muffins are fully digested. But what was absorbing the poison? If we can remove it from whatever tissue being targeted, we can save him."

Ahh. That was what she liked about the Doctor—all that babble, and yet not a word wasted. "Great. How do we find out what tissues are effected?"

"Go through his body again. Go through his bones, his muscles, his organs; find it, and then you can sift it out just like you did in his blood."

With much more hope now that she had the Doctor with her, Amy took a deep breath, closed her eyes, and let her hands hover over her patient. She would move through him by sense rather than sight.

She started back at his heart—always a good place to start—and her hands moved over him, to the next area, and the next. "It's in his muscles. That's why he can't move," she announced. But James seemed farther away than ever, and the slowness of the process was nearly unbearable. She had been searching for less than two minutes, yet she felt like she had wasted an hour. And as she began to remove the poison from the effected areas, she despaired of ever getting rid of it all in time; she had to sift through each fiber and sinew of each muscle, because the particles hid in between the strands. She despaired more at the knowledge of how much of it there was. How could one little knife give so big a dose of poison?

There was something else she felt, also. She felt his pain—the pain in his back from the flogging, the pain in his arms and ribs from breaking through his chains, even the pain in his side from the knife itself. There was a spasm in his thigh as the muscles she was working with began to wake up, and though she knew it must hurt, her heart skipped with excitement. "It's working!"

"He's getting weaker," Demon warned, concern deepening his accent. "He hasn't got much longer."

"Come on, James." She refused to give up now, when she was so close. She would not let Fate win. He won't live, announced that doubtful voice in the back of her mind. She told it to shut its pie-hole. Come on, self, she thought. Just like in the movies. Make him better. She kept working, kept thinking, trying to find a faster way without neglecting the original process.

"Amy..." Demon persisted.

"I know, I know." She sat back for a moment, staring solemnly at the weak rise and fall of her nephew's chest, each breath giving a smaller movement than the last. "This is the only other thing I can think of, but it might make things worse," she thought to him, and she was surprised at the clarity of his mind.

"If it kills me, it won't matter because I would be dead anyway. There is no risk if the consequences are the same whether you do it or not. There is nothing to lose."

"Except you." But he had given her the okay to go ahead. She placed her hands on his chest, closed her eyes, and took a deep breath. Concentrating hard, she focused all her energy, and sent it through his body. He jolted as though he had been shocked, then lay still. The tiny flame of the candle went out, and the room was plunged into darkness.

Theodore scrambled to open the curtains and let in the sun.

"Not breathing!" Demon cried.

"Come on, James," she murmured, too exhausted to do any CPR. Several jumbled moments passed where the three other men in the room scrambled toward the bed. She felt someone grab her by the shoulders and move her out of the way; they must've been yelling, but she couldn't hear them. Her eyes plastered on James, the only thing she could hear was the silence of his breath.

But before Jack or the Doctor would try to save him, his mouth opened slightly, and a yellow-gold sort of smoke floated out. Weakly, the lass raised her hand and waved the cloud gone. A beat of silence, and then the man gasped for breath. "It's working," the feline announces, able to sense the man's state of being. "He's getting stronger."

Somehow finding the energy, the lass rushed back to his side. "James!" He squinted his eyes open to look at her. It had been too long since she had seen those eyes. Immediately she broke down, wrapped her arms around him, covering his face with tears and kissed. She only cried harder when he hugged her back, sitting up.

"I'm here," he assured her softly. "I'm here."

'What did you do?" asked Jack. "What was that gas?"

"That," replied the Doctor, "was the poison in vapour form. You hyper-circulated the poison until it was all in his lungs, then you turned it into gas. Liquid expands when it turns into gas, so it must've cut off his breathing. But then the gas traveled out on its own because of its momentum from the hypercirculation, and it saved him. Oh, brilliant!"

She managed a weak smile. "Hey, are you all right?" Harkness inquired after her obvious exhaustion.

"She's used up all her energy trying to get rid of the poison," James answered, voice gruff from lack of use. "It will take her some time to recover."

They hadn't caught their breaths yet when the girl suddenly asked, "What you all standin' there for? We've got Realms to save!"

"I'll reset the course and we'll make way immediately," Theodore assured them. "Men, topside. Get ready to sail."

"Aye-aye, captain!" cried an enthusiastic Doctor, who really seemed to be enjoying himself. "I've always wanted to say that. Allons-y!" They swept out of the cabin.

"You two should rest," Demon told them. "You've had the worst of it these past few days, and today especially. Just take it easy and—."

"Oy, Demon," he was interrupted as the Doctor poked back in, "what part of 'Allons-y' don't you understand? There's no way groves can handle us two all on his own, come on." Happy to have been invited, the feline trotted after him with tail held high.

"I've been sleeping far too much of late. I am wide awake now. Why don't you get some rest? I'll be right here."

"There's no way I'll be able to sleep after all this."

"There is no way you've slept at all in the past several days. Rest."

In spite of her adrenaline, in spite of her spinning emotions and racing thoughts; in spite of everything that had happened, she was asleep in James's arms before her head hit the pillow, and she slept like the dead that the dear man had nearly joined.

———————————————————————————————————————

four hours later, the two emerged on deck. It was still overcast, but the rain had stopped and some of the chill had gone out of the air. The lass still looked tired, although she carried herself with the same dignity as ever, while the man who had been on death's doorstep mere hours ago moved a little gingerly, unused to moving at all. "No work for you, James, not for a while," Theodore ordered when he sawr him. Norrington merely shrugged, surprising those who knew his work ethic, and was content to stand at the rail and enjoy being alive.

As she leaned beside him against the bulwarks, Amy looked up to see the Doctor and Harkness conversing with one another at the tiller, where the latter was teaching the former how to steer. Feeling obliged, she hauled herself to her feet and dragged herself over. "Doctor."

"'Ello, Amy," came the cheerful greeting and abnormally large smile.

"I wanted to thank you."

"Aw," he waved it away, "it was you who did it."

"No, really. If it weren't for you, I might never have tried. This whole time I've been afraid of hurting him worse if I tried to heal him. So thanks." She extended her hand; but when he grabbed it, he pulled her into a big bear hug. I knew it, she thought to herself, Ten gives really good hugs. "Now," she said muffledly, struggling out of his grasp, "about sending you back; I've been thinking, and I know how I can get you both back to your own universe."

"Fantastic. How soon?"

"Give me until the morning to regain some of my strength."

"You're sure you'll be well enough by then? I don't want you to strain yourself."

"Yeah, there's no hurry," agreed Harkness. "I wasn't busy with anything."

"I was," said the Doctor. "But it wasn't important. Just a little issue with the Judoon and the shadow Proclamation."

"'Judoon platoon on the moon,'" she quoted.

"Oh I remember that! Back when I first met Marths—that was years ago. Good memory. Can you remember other things I've said? Clever things?"

"Don't encourage her," James warned. "She's been known to fabricate entire conversations out of quotations. She spends whole days trying to be witty by applying as many quotations as she can."

"It's true. During free band periods, Rosie and I recite 'Pirates of the Caribbean' from memory, among other things."

"I hope she doesn't do that with 'Doctor Who' or 'Torchwood,'" replied Harkness. When the Doctor looked at him askance, he went one; "Just imagine talking to someone who could reply in nothing but things you had said before."

"I'd probably think she was an alien," he grinned. "Out to steal my voice."

"It is a little creepy."

"'You've no idea,'" sighed James, and everyone looked at him in surprise.

Huh. That's the first non-cliffie in a while. Appreciate it! Chapter 37 has a good start to it, and with any luck, I may have it up by the full moon in a week and a half, along with a Fears update. But that's just me crossing my fingers. I hope I caught the Doctor's character. Let me know how I did...

You know what would really help me pump out updates more quickly? Reviews. I like reviews.