REACHING OUT

Colin wasn't happy.

Eight hours had passed since the benevolent Doctor had dropped his little bomb: the best course of action was to keep Donna sick. After all they had been through, after the sacrifice Donna had already made for them, after the effort they'd gone to in order to get her medication… after all the strife he personally had been through trying to meet a woman like her, some Doctor asks him to throw Donna under the bus, and he just does it!

If the Doctor weren't trying to save Colin's favourite cousin along with himself, he'd have half a mind to ignore Doctor's orders. Donna should have had another pill about four hours ago. Colin wanted desperately for her to take it, so they could resume their lives, their holiday together, and their burgeoning relationship.

But as it was, the Doctor's semi-insane solution sounded like it might actually work, and Colin had to admit, he was already sort of reluctant not to listen to the Doctor and do what he asked. Two women whom he knew to be extremely bright, as well as incredibly kindhearted, both believed in him fiercely, and he'd proven himself more than once to Colin…

Still, it was murder watching Donna's condition deteriorate.

"If you don't like it, don't watch," Donna said, rather weakly, with a smile. "In any case, what good is it doing, you sitting there in a chair, staring at me? Put a match on! Go for a walk! Someone ought to enjoy this resort!"

She was lying down, sleeping on and off. At the moment, she was pale, and falling fast into what the Doctor and Martha had called Hypertensive Crisis. Colin had done some reading up on it, via the internet. He'd learned that Donna was now at serious risk for heart attack or stroke, and that the symptoms (of which he'd already seen quite a few) might only mount, and worsen.

"I can't leave you!"

"Well, you can't just sit there and gawk," she insisted. "Seriously. Find something else to do. I'll be fine."

"You're not fine!"

"Well, clearly!" she shouted back, lifting her head. "Wouldn't you say that's kind of the point? Or haven't you been paying attention?"

She groaned, and let her head fall back upon the pillow. A wave of nausea came over her, and she closed her eyes to let it pass. When it did, she opened her eyes again, and fixed them on Colin.

"Nauseated?" he asked.

"Yeah."

"It's just going to get worse, love."

"I know. I'm ready for it. Doctor's orders."

"Ugh, bloody hell," Colin muttered, standing up from his chair. He began to pace the room like a caged cat. "Bloody Doctor."

"It's not his fault, and you can't keep pacing, because you're making me dizzy," she told him. "And you must know it's not his fault, because you're doing what he wants, aren't you?"

Colin sighed, and stopped pacing. "Yeah," he said, uneasily.

"Aren't you?"

"Yes."

"Colin Brownhill, are you following the Doctor's orders to the letter? Don't lie to me!"

"I am!" he practically shouted now. "God help me, I'm too far into this now not to follow the Doctor's orders! He said not to give you your medication anymore, until the TARDIS arrived, so that's what I'm doing! Believe me, I'd love nothing more than to have you sit up, take one of those pills that we worked so hard to get, and then burn through those sheets with you until our beautiful, pre-planned holiday is over. But instead, I'm doing this! I'm watching you suffer, when the antidote is sitting right there on the your night table! Why would I do any of this, if I weren't under orders?"

"I'm just trying to make sure you're not holding back," she said. "You weren't supposed to do something else, that you're too scared to do...""

"Not doing something I'm too scared to do? This is bloody terrifying!" he shouted, louder than he intended, in his exasperation.

"Okay, okay, no need to get worked-up," Donna said, again, trying to raise her head, but again, getting dizzy. At that point, she also felt a strong rush of unpleasant heat, and began to perspire, but she tried to ignore it. "I believe you. I just wanted to be certain."

"Well… be certain. I'm doing everything he wants, even though it hurts you everywhere, which hurts me everywhere."

Donna burst into tears then, and covered her face with her hands.

"Oh, God," he groaned, sitting down on the bed beside her. "I'm sorry. I didn't mean it. Whatever I said… I'm so sorry, I take it back."

"No, don't take it back. What you said was lovely, just lovely," she told him. Then, she confessed, sobbing as she spoke, "I'm a horrible mess. I feel ghastly. I have never felt like this in my life, like I'm falling apart. Everything's going wrong, and it's only going to deteriorate further!"

Tears fell onto the pillow, and she continued to hide her face, now with embarrassment.

"Oh, Donna," he said. "That's it. You're taking a pill – Doctor or no Doctor. He's a brilliant guy, he'll find another way."

"No," she said. "Not until we get the go-ahead from him."

"He's locked in a cell on a different planet," Colin pointed out. "What if their phone dies, or gets confiscated? You're going to put yourself in the path of a stroke, just waiting for the Doctor to get back to you?"

"If you're in this, you're in this," she said. "If you're not, you're not."

"I'm in this, but let's be pragmatic…"

"Pragmatic, in my experience, means listening to the Doctor. It is far too early to consider not doing that, so just step off with the pills, all right? If he says this will save them, then this will save them."

"Okay," Colin said. "I will soldier through. If you can handle it, I can."

And he lay down next to her. He stroked her hair, which temporarily staved off headache and nausea, and before either one of them knew it, Donna was mercifully asleep again.

He said a little prayer, hoping the TARDIS would find her before she woke. Her illness would be worse, her risk would be higher, her general misery would be more acute, if she regained consciousness after some time had passed.

"This better fucking work," he muttered aloud, watching her sleep fitfully, breathing hard, sweating terribly.

The Doctor and Martha Jones had spent two full nights as captives of the Congress of Sercaton, and their execution was imminent… possibly the following day. By Judge Rabic's own admission, Martha had done nothing to warrant a penalty of death, but they were going to send her to the gallows anyway, just because they could use it as a grandstanding measure. In fact, the Doctor reckoned that the planet was currently filling with officials from surrounding planets, come to watch the thrilling and spectacular death of the last of the Time Lords, and his faithful companion.

Their beta blockers worked fine all night, and into the morning. They talked a lot, they snogged a bit, he taught her the names of all the moons formerly surrounding Gallifrey. And, the Doctor tried again to take a running start and grab onto the high window, to see what he could see. And, they were both acutely aware that they only had a few hours left with the effects of their first dose of beta blockers, and only two pills remaining.

At some point, an hour or two after their afternoon meal of two pieces of charred sausage, and a block of mold-riddled cheese the size of a ping-pong ball, they were both up on their feet, stretching. The hard surfaces of their cell were unforgiving, and there was literally no respite from the stones and board.

As Martha pulled her arms back down to her sides, the Doctor was there waiting, with his hands on her hips, ready to meet up with her for a kiss, but as soon as their lips met, their hearts sped up…

…and her chest tightened ever so slightly.

"Did you feel that?" she asked, his lips still pressed halfway into hers.

"No, not yet," he said. "Blocker starting to wear off?"

"Yes," she sighed. "Just slightly, but it's definitely discernible."

"I was just about to suggestively ask how much time you reckon we've got left to have our heart-pounding fun, before we have to bring back the magic of the Monastery again."

"I reckon not much."

"How slight are we talking? Could you risk it?" he asked. But as soon as he did, he was obliged to let go of her, and begin coughing again, as that old familiar cardiac arrest threatened to overtake him. "Nope… never mind."

"Sorry," she said, sincerely.

With that, the Doctor kicked one of the lunch trays across the cell, with an angry cry, and a chest-clutching gasp. "I hate this planet."

"Well, let's think about something else. Here's something cheerful: Donna's medication wore off a few hours ago."

"Which means, she should be back comfortably in hypertensive crisis," the Doctor said. "If Colin's done what he said he would."

"So what do we do now? Just wait to hear from them? Wait to know that the TARDIS has homed in on Donna's distress?"

"No," he said. "We don't wait. We meditate. Hey, that rhymes!"

"Meditate?"

"It's another thing that came to me in the course of things yesterday," he said. "While you were gone, it was the only thing I could do to keep myself calm. The concept of meditation added itself to the soup of revelations I was on the verge of having, concerning how to help the TARDIS, and us."

"Okay, I'll take your word for it. What do I do?"

He sat down on his sleeping shelf, cross-legged like a yogi, and motioned for Martha to join him. She sat down in the same position, facing him, with their knees touching, and he took both her hands.

"Just, close your eyes, and try to clear your mind," he said.

She chuckled. "Easier said than done."

"I know," he said. "Just focus on how tired you are. Think of your exhaustion, and how good it feels just to let go… maybe just for a bit."

She sighed, realising for the first time that beyond being frightened and frustrated, she was, as he'd said, exhausted. Until now, she hadn't had time to think about it, nor would she have allowed herself to do so.

"Okay, I'm trying," she said.

"Your head and shoulders come into contact with the cushions, and your body relaxes. There's nothing to look at except the bedroom wall," he said. "Nothing you can do about your problems just now – not until you've had your rest. You won't be any good at solving them at the moment anyway…"

He continued for a few minutes to talk in this vein. He did not encourage her to fall asleep… just to unplug. And to her surprise, this little narrative worked. The idea that her problems aren't gone, they are just waiting for her to be ready for them, it played well in her busy/brilliant/healer/heroine brain.

"Now isn't the time for planning, or being a hero," he said. "Because we have no idea what tomorrow will bring. Might as well stop worrying, and put your energy in storage."

He knows me well, she thought.

And then, for a while, they were both silent.

To her surprise, after an unknowable amount of time, the Doctor said, "I'm going to enter your mind now, is that all right?"

She smiled subtly. "Like I would ever say no to you."

And then she felt something probing at the edges of her consciousness. It was a warmth, a light, a familiarity… it felt like a metaphorical hand reaching across to hold hers.

"Martha, can you feel me?" he asked.

"I can," she replied.

And she realised then that the Doctor had not spoken to her – he had thought with her, and she had fallen into the rhythm with absolutely no compunction.

"We're going to go further," he said. "Stay with me."

"I could never not stay with you."

More silence enveloped them, but in that time, she felt more warmth, more light, more familiarity, a tighter grip on the Doctor, his consciousness, his being… it was like they were absorbing one another and becoming one.

It felt amazing. Ineffable. She wondered how she would ever be able to hold onto this feeling, once it was over – it was far too lofty and profound and round and complete for her human brain… just beyond anything that Dr. Jones could understand.

She had never felt so free, and so protected at the same time.

And never so in love.

And then the nature of the union changed.

Suddenly, it was like the two of them had walked across a threshold of sorts, through a door into something bigger, vast, all-knowing… like a sky. They seemed to fall, but the sky that cradled them, and let them fly at will, and its air warmed them and brushed against them freely, easily…

There was a softness, and a rush. There was floating like a feather, and there was exhilaration, like on a roller coaster.

And a pulse was at the back of it, perhaps rising from the horizon.

It was a familiar beat, faster than her heartbeat, but it, too, felt familiar. Like a song. Like the rhythm of something she'd heard before.

"You're here, I know you are," the Doctor said, and Martha knew he was not addressing her. He was addressing the TARDIS. "Can you hear me? Feel me?"

The pulse continued, but there was no answer, per se.

"Martha is here too… bring us in," he said. "Help us be with you."

Silence reigned a bit longer, and then, Martha felt something deep within the cradling sky. She felt a blip. A bump. She heard a sound…

If the TARDIS was in a coma, that what they had felt was the equivalent of her perhaps fluttering her eyelids, or reflexively moving her feet.

"Alive, yes," the Doctor said. "You're alive. Be alive for us. If for nothing else, then for us. And for Donna."

"Donna…" Martha's inner voice seemed to echo, almost involuntarily. "Our friend, Donna. Kind, clever, Donna…"

"We're here," from the Doctor. "Martha and I, we're all right, thanks to you. You've done your duty. But where is she? Do you feel Donna missing?"

The pulse sped up just a hare, and there was a familiar grinding sound all round them, almost inside their consciousnesses themselves… and then it stopped, and the pulsing slowed again. It was a warning. The TARDIS had heard them, and was panicking, because they had pointed out Donna's absence… but her panic had got her the smackdown from Sercaton.

"I know it hurts," the Doctor said. "And I know you can feel trepidation… terror, even. But for Donna, you have to push through. She's in danger. Reach out to her. She's on Earth, and she needs help."

They both waited a long while before "saying" anything again. The TARDIS had been awakened somewhat by her primary imperative to keep her "friends" safe. But in her weakened state, it would take her a while to find Donna in the universe. On an ordinary day, Donna's distress would reach her in minutes. Today, it was a different story.

They waited.

And waited.

The good news was, they could feel the TARDIS' mild panic, and took it upon themselves as well. But their connection, their oneness, kept their heartrates cool. Worry plagued all three of them, for their friend, for her health, for her fear and suffering…

…but emotions could not, and did not boil over. Nothing went off-kilter, everything remained whole. Stable. Sound.

Donna slept for two hours, and Colin did as she had suggested: he put a match on. Two Spanish teams were playing football, and he had no idea which to root for, but he enjoyed "the beautiful game" enough that simply watching the players move about was entertainment enough for him.

He continued to lie next to Donna, and he occasionally looked over to make sure she was still breathing steadily, and not turning blue, hyperventilating, or silently having a stroke.

All at once, Donna woke, turned over on her side, and without warning, vomited into the bin that Colin had put at her bedside.

She cursed loudly, once she was done, then sat up on the edge of the bed, and wept.

"It's all right, love," he lulled, stroking her head again. She barely knew he was there.

He offered her some water, and she sipped it, just barely, then returned to her totally desolate state.

He removed the plastic bag from the bin and put it inside a non-transparent disposable laundry sack. He called down to reception to ask for a rubbish pick-up, as well as a few extra bags.

They waited for twenty minutes or so… housekeeping came and went. All the while, Donna just sat and cried. Her anxiety and illness, and overall distress was unbearable now.

"This is ridiculous," he said. "How can this be? It's only been ten hours, and you're so ill, you can't even sit up and see straight!"

"It's an exaggerated illness," she reminded him, clearing her throat, and calming somewhat. "Brought on by exaggerated events. The Doctor knows that. So does the TARDIS, in a way."

"Are you sure you don't want to take another pill?" he asked her.

"I'm sure," she replied. And then she took a few deep, ragged breaths, forcing down more sobs, as they threatened to break her open once more.

Colin paced, and listened to her breath vibrate through her, as she staved off nausea and fear.

"I'm giving it another hour, and then I'm calling for an ambulance," he said.

Without responding with words, Donna leaned forward once more, buried her head in her hands, and resumed weeping.

It was agony to watch.

Ugh, poor Donna.

Thoughts? Send the crickets home, and let me hear what you have to say!

Thanks for reading. :-)