Disclaimer: The Doctor and associated properties belong to the BBC. Evelyn Smythe belongs to Big Finish.
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He has been described as loud and bombastic, but on this matter he is able to keep his silence. She doesn't know that he knows. She doesn't realize that he has seen her press her hand against her chest, then scramble in her handbag for her pills. That he has observed her shortness of breath and dizziness after a particularly harrowing scare or escape.
He sometimes wonders why she doesn't tell him. He is from a civilization far more technically advanced than hers. Doesn't she realize that he could give her medicines far more effective than anything found on Earth, take her to get surgery so precise she would feel like a new woman the next morning without any indication an operation had ever been performed? He feels like a specialist himself with all the research he has done into the human cardiovascular system. He dreams about veins and arteries. He's compiled a list of the finest doctors in the galaxy. All she has to do is say the word, and he will whisk her away to any and every specialist he can name.
So why doesn't she say something? Can she possibly think he would abandon her? That he would suddenly decide she was too old to travel with him? Or does she know the same truth that he does: he may be a master of time, but even he cannot hold back death. There is no technology that can completely fix an ailing body. No amount of resistance will ever defeat entropy. In the end she will die. All his effort can only postpone this inevitability.
Even so, she could still fight. She is a stubborn woman, even by the standards of an oh-so-stubborn species. She is ordinary to look at, but extraordinary to know. She has always glared into the eyes of the enemy and refused to back down. University officials and Silurians, madmen and Daleks -- all have failed to cow her. How could she let her own body defeat her?
Not a day goes by without him wondering what she's thinking. Sometimes he wants to grab her by the shoulders and shout some sense into her. Not that that would actually work; she is adept at volleying back his verbal attacks. Other days he schemes ways to broach the subject. He concocts a thousand opening gambits until cruel reality reminds him he is more suited to bombast than confidences. He's sure that in the past he was much better at this sort of thing, but currently he's more of an extrovert. He worries that his typical blunt approach is more likely to infuriate her than elicit any sort of confession.
As time passes, the indecision eats at him. He knows that her already-brief lifespan could be cut short at any time, just as he knows he could help prevent this. Does he have the right to stand by while her heart fights through each day, or is he morally obligated to act, even if it is against her will? She is so dear to him, and he treasures her friendship. But isn't her life worth more? He should be willing to sacrifice her affection and drag her off to the nearest cardiologist, but somehow he finds reasons to delay. Surely any day now she will confess her secret. Of course she will; she is a sensible woman. Soon she'll tell him her heart's been giving her a little trouble. He'll feign surprise and namedrop a few famous surgeons. She'll express relief and gratitude, they'll pop off to some planet or other and, a quick operation later, she'll be better than new.
Until then, he will watch and wait and worry.
the Enb
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He has been described as loud and bombastic, but on this matter he is able to keep his silence. She doesn't know that he knows. She doesn't realize that he has seen her press her hand against her chest, then scramble in her handbag for her pills. That he has observed her shortness of breath and dizziness after a particularly harrowing scare or escape.
He sometimes wonders why she doesn't tell him. He is from a civilization far more technically advanced than hers. Doesn't she realize that he could give her medicines far more effective than anything found on Earth, take her to get surgery so precise she would feel like a new woman the next morning without any indication an operation had ever been performed? He feels like a specialist himself with all the research he has done into the human cardiovascular system. He dreams about veins and arteries. He's compiled a list of the finest doctors in the galaxy. All she has to do is say the word, and he will whisk her away to any and every specialist he can name.
So why doesn't she say something? Can she possibly think he would abandon her? That he would suddenly decide she was too old to travel with him? Or does she know the same truth that he does: he may be a master of time, but even he cannot hold back death. There is no technology that can completely fix an ailing body. No amount of resistance will ever defeat entropy. In the end she will die. All his effort can only postpone this inevitability.
Even so, she could still fight. She is a stubborn woman, even by the standards of an oh-so-stubborn species. She is ordinary to look at, but extraordinary to know. She has always glared into the eyes of the enemy and refused to back down. University officials and Silurians, madmen and Daleks -- all have failed to cow her. How could she let her own body defeat her?
Not a day goes by without him wondering what she's thinking. Sometimes he wants to grab her by the shoulders and shout some sense into her. Not that that would actually work; she is adept at volleying back his verbal attacks. Other days he schemes ways to broach the subject. He concocts a thousand opening gambits until cruel reality reminds him he is more suited to bombast than confidences. He's sure that in the past he was much better at this sort of thing, but currently he's more of an extrovert. He worries that his typical blunt approach is more likely to infuriate her than elicit any sort of confession.
As time passes, the indecision eats at him. He knows that her already-brief lifespan could be cut short at any time, just as he knows he could help prevent this. Does he have the right to stand by while her heart fights through each day, or is he morally obligated to act, even if it is against her will? She is so dear to him, and he treasures her friendship. But isn't her life worth more? He should be willing to sacrifice her affection and drag her off to the nearest cardiologist, but somehow he finds reasons to delay. Surely any day now she will confess her secret. Of course she will; she is a sensible woman. Soon she'll tell him her heart's been giving her a little trouble. He'll feign surprise and namedrop a few famous surgeons. She'll express relief and gratitude, they'll pop off to some planet or other and, a quick operation later, she'll be better than new.
Until then, he will watch and wait and worry.
the Enb