The déjà vu grew stronger as Rose lay in bed shivering uncontrollably. She'd forgone changing into pyjamas and kept on all of her clothes, except the boots, to avoid the inevitable chill that would accompany removing any of the layers in which she was wrapped.
But now the clothes and blankets seemed to have no effect. She literally felt as though she were freezing. Instead of warm blood running through her veins, she half believed that the vital substance had turned to icy liquid metal.
She had to get warm. She need heat, the hotter the better. It was the only solution. With a deep groan she dragged herself out of bed, nearly stumbling as she tottered toward the bathroom. Her legs shook terribly, and almost violent tremors left her hands nearly unusable. Still, she managed to turn on the shower, adjusting the knob to provide the hottest water possible. She'd never used this setting before; usually she had to keep decreasing the heat as her shower progressed. But right now she thought only of the intense warmth of the water.
She did not remove her clothing. She stepped beneath the stream, jerking at first with the contrast between ambient temperature and steaming water. She could feel the heat, but it wasn't warming her. She sank down to the tiled floor, drawing up her knees and wrapping her arms around them as steam enveloped her.
"Warm," she muttered, "just wanna be warm." Her words were slurred from the chattering of her teeth, but she continued reciting her new mantra in the desperate hope that it would somehow help.
The Doctor tried to complete a few routine maintenance chores on the ship, but his mind kept returning to Rose. He'd detected no overt signs of illness in his brief assessment, but the fact remained that she was quite chilled. Was, he reiterated to himself. By now she was probably all toasty and cozy beneath her purple duvet, snoozing blissfully.
After his third fumbled attempt to dismantle the gamma ring on the temporal stabilizer, he sighed and stood. He'd just go take a peek at Rose to be sure she was sleeping soundly and comfortably.
He walked down the corridor with an easy stride. He looked forward to seeing her calm face and hearing her steady, slow, human breathing. He found her door half open and poked his head inside.
To his surprise, her bed was empty. He saw several blankets and the duvet pushed into a small mountain on the side of the mattress. He heard the shower running and realized that she was in her bathroom. He frowned a little when it dawned on him that she hadn't slept more than an hour.
He still felt somewhat reluctant to give her a sleeping aid, but he supposed it was the right thing to do. She really did need some rest. By his calculation, she hadn't had a proper night's sleep in over 48 hours. She was a human; she was due.
His stride was purposeful as he walked to the infirmary. He searched about for a few minutes until he found something that would work well with Rose's biochemistry. Almost as an afterthought he decided that he'd put the medication in a cup of tea. A nice mug of chamomile would be just the thing for her.
He spent a little time in the kitchen preparing the tea then adding a few drops of the soporific. He carried the mug to Rose's room, pausing to tap lightly at the door in case she was still dressing.
There was no response, so he called her name softly. He was met with silence. With only scant caution he pushed open the door, glancing around quickly to see that she was nowhere in sight. Immediately he realized that the shower was still running. He set the tea on Rose's dressing table then walked to the bathroom door. It was ajar.
He knocked. "Rose. You all right?"
He heard the rush of the water. Steam curled around him, seeping from the room as he opened the door further. Indeed, the bathroom had become a sauna. He could see nothing at first through the warm clouds.
"Rose!" he said more urgently. He slid open the shower door and blinked through the steam.
She was hunched on the floor, curled in upon herself. Her clothes and hair were plastered to her reddened skin. Her eyes seemed hollow and dark, and he could tell that she was unaware of his presence.
He reached up to shut off the water then crouched beside her. "Rose. Come on, Rose. It's time to get out now." With somewhat more exigency, he repeated, "Rose?"
Slowly she lifted her head to stare at him with glassy eyes. Then she looked up at the shower head and gave a plaintive sob.
"What's the matter?" he asked. "What are you doing in here?"
"Cold," she stammered. "So cold."
"Oh Rose."
He placed his hands upon her cheeks. Her skin was cooling beneath his palms. He shifted one hand down so that he could rest his fingers against the pulse point in her neck. The beat was rapid and slightly thready. She began to shiver.
"Come on, let's get you out of here," he said, gently pulling her up.
She needed his support to remain on her feet. He guided her to the vanity then eased her down onto the bench, quickly stripping off her jumper and tee shirt in one fluid motion. The jeans were next, then the leggings beneath. He reached behind her to unhook her bra, whisking away the little lacy thing as he turned to reach for a large, thick towel. He wiped away the water from her torso, arms, and legs, then retrieved the heavy robe hanging on the back of the door. She was shaking fiercely by the time he maneuvered her arms into the bathrobe. After pulling it closed, he removed her knickers. It was a testament to her overriding discomfort that she did not offer any protest as he undressed her completely.
He wrapped a towel around her dripping hair. She remained quiet, the only noise the clinking of her teeth. She was rocking back and forth and clasping at her arms in some instinctive attempt at getting warm. Her distress was so great that he lifted her hand to examine her fingernails, half expecting to find them blue. They were paler than normal, but that was due to reduced blood flow to her extremities.
While she was experiencing extreme cold, it was merely the sensation that affected her. She showed no physical signs of hypothermia. He scrubbed gently at her hair for a few moments to remove as much water as possible, grateful for the extremely absorbent Hryption cotton towels he'd picked up ages ago on the planet Vrwjelia. Rose's hair was nearly dry by the time he'd finished.
He took her elbow to pull her up. "Come on, Rose," he said.
She inhaled shakily. "Cold," she repeated. "C…cold."
"I know. I'm going to help. You'll be warm soon."
"Feel… like… I'll never…be warm… again."
He wrapped an arm around her and led her to her bed. She began to sink down, but he stopped her long enough to wrap her securely in a blanket. Then he permitted her to curl up on her side. She was still wracked with chills, jerking forcefully enough to mimic a seizure. It was alarming, but the Doctor tried to remain calm. He withdrew the sonic screwdriver and scanned her head, abdomen, and back. The readings were unsurprising, but he'd almost hoped for something else…
"I need to have a look," he said softly. Without waiting for her to reply, he cupped her face in his hands, positioning his fingers against her temples. His eyelids fluttered shut briefly, as did hers, and then he pulled his hands away and stepped back.
He rummaged through several drawers before finding what he sought. He pulled a thin blanket from the depths of the dresser and spread it over her, tucking the edges under her body.
"D…duvet?" she stammered.
"No, this is better," he replied. He pressed the tip of the sonic screwdriver to the lower edge of the blanket. In a few seconds the fibers warmed, creating the equivalent of an electric blanket but with much more even heat.
He sat beside her, brushing the hair from her face. Her teary gaze met his, and he knew she needed something more. He only hesitated a moment before kicking off his shoes, lying down, and coiling his body around hers. He pulled up the duvet, securing the edges to seal him and Rose into the warm cocoon. Finally, after taking a moment to raise his body temperature, he wrapped his arms around her.
She continued to shake in his embrace. He rubbed at her cheek with the back of one hand while placing the other lightly against her chest. Her heart was hammering, and her respiration was rapid. She'd hovered at the precipice for some time, but now she was plunging over the edge.
"It's all right," he told her gently. "Just let it go."
"So… cold," she stuttered. "Never… feel… warm… again."
"Yes, you will. But you have to let it out."
He continued stroking her cheek. She still shook fiercely, so he tightened his arms around her. His fingers crept up to her temple again, where he moved them in tiny circles, increasing the pressure incrementally.
"You're safe, Rose," he said softly. "Nothing can hurt you now. Tell me what frightened you."
She drew a deep, tremulous breath and exhaled slowly. "They killed her," she whispered.
"Yes, they did," he acknowledged, understanding that she needed to say the words, to articulate her thoughts and remove the shroud of horror from them. He waited for her to continue.
After some time, she said, "But it was worse than bein' dead. They turned her into one of them, one of those metal monsters without a soul."
His fingers maintained their small movements against her forehead, wordlessly encouraging her to keep going.
"An' I know she wasn't my real mum, but what if she had been? What if she'd been made into that? An' all the others, all those innocent people, they became those heartless, horrible things, too. An' they were all so, so…" She gave a little gasp. "So cold."
"Sshh," he soothed, opening his hand to lay it across her brow. "I know. What they did was unconscionable, appalling, inhuman. But we stopped them. Just remember that we stopped them."
He felt her trembling against his chest, but this wasn't the effect of chills. She was crying. He said nothing but brushed the hair away from her neck to press a soft kiss against her cool skin. Then he shifted so that she could tuck her head beneath his chin, and he held her while she wept.
After a few minutes he felt the warmth of her tears against his hand and realized that she'd stopped shaking entirely. He rested sensitive fingertips over her wrist to find her skin warm and her pulse returning to normal.
She began to wriggle out of his embrace. For a moment he feared that she was embarrassed and ashamed to face him. But as his arms loosened, she turned over so that she could rest her brow against his.
He threaded his fingers through her hair. "Rose, I…" he began, reticent to speak the words but knowing that they needed to be said. "I'm sorry. I should've realized how terrible it was for you. Should've said something, talked with you about it, because I know… should do, at any rate… that you're human, and of course it would affect you."
She murmured, "Human weakness, I s'pose."
He pulled his head back abruptly and cupped her cheeks in his hands. "No, Rose, that's not what I meant at all. You weren't weak; you're one of the strongest people I've ever known, human or otherwise. It's that depth of emotion and warmth of heart that I admire most about you."
She blinked at him; a few tears had sprung to her eyes again. "Really?"
"Oh yes. Really and truly."
She smiled softly, and he realized it was the first genuine expression of happiness he'd seen in her in some time. Beneath the expression, however, lurked deep fatigue. He rolled onto his back, pulling Rose onto his chest so that her head rested over his left heart.
She snuggled into him without complaint, and he knew that lassitude was finally washing over her.
"Sleep now, Rose," he said gently.
"Will you stay?" she murmured against his shirt.
"Nowhere else I'd rather be." His hand moved over her back in a steady, comforting rhythm.
In less than a minute she'd slipped into slumber, blissfully undisturbed by dreams.
To be concluded…