In an instant he had turned back to her. She watched his expression shift from determination to fear. She thought he spoke her name as he reached for her hands, but she could barely hear him.
Then he wrapped an arm around her waist and dragged her forward, and sporadic, disjointed words seemed to flutter up against her ears: "oxygen deprivation," "cessation of brain function," "tissue death," "hurry," "faster," "stay," "with me."
She wanted to respond, but her efforts to speak resulted in nothing more than an empty gaping sensation in her head. She could feel the Doctor pulling her, and when she looked down she found that his hand seemed a part of her own body; his wrist was oddly attached to her ribs, as if he had thrust his hand inside of her.
"What're you doing?" she managed to murmur.
"Energy transfer," and this time she heard his words with more clarity.
"What's that?"
"I'm joining some of my energy with yours. Are you feeling any stronger?"
She nodded, and when she lifted her arm she saw that her hand was almost solid again.
"Good. Come on." He urged her forward, his hand still connected to her.
"What's happening to me?" she whispered.
"The oxygen in the crypt's nearly gone."
The passageway seemed to dim, and she struggled to maintain her perception of light. "Am I dying?"
He spared her a glance. "Yes."
"And you?"
"I still have a little time left. And there's time for you, too, but we have to hurry."
He pulled her forward again. For a short while she stumbled along with him, trusting him to lead her through the growing darkness. The absence of light did not really matter; she could still feel the stone surrounding her. It resonated through her and left her utterly bereft. She stopped.
"Rose, come on," the Doctor urged.
He was tugging at her again, but she could feel that he was weakening, too. "You're using up your energy on me," she said.
"We have to keep moving," he replied. "We have to get closer—"
"If we don't make it back, the people will never know, and they'll keep on causing the pain."
"We'll tell them," he reassured her. "But we have to get back to our bodies to do that, so we need to keep going."
"If we both die, they'll never know," she repeated.
"Rose, please, there's no time to discuss this—"
"You have to go on without me," she said. She wished she had the strength to infuse a bit of conviction into her voice.
He stopped. "No."
"Yeah, you do."
"Rose, no. We're going back together."
"If you had all your energy, if you weren't sharing it with me, you could go a lot faster,"
He shook his head and took a step.
"Couldn't you?" she questioned weakly yet unrelentingly.
"Rose, I won't—"
"Just answer me!" She actually managed to increase the volume of her voice slightly.
"Stop it," he admonished sharply, then his tone softened. "I'm not leaving you, and we're just wasting time standing here discussing it."
"But they have to know," she began again, reaching out to touch the rock.
"They will. I promise you that no matter what happens, they will."
He pulled her forward again. Rose could feel the decrease in energy; the sensation of limbs was fading quickly so that she seemed to float along behind the Time Lord.
"We're getting close, Rose," the Doctor was saying, though his words were muffled again. "I can feel it."
"Then go on without me," she gasped out, hoping that she could make her own words audible to him.
"No—"
"Yes. Please. You're gonna need… all of your energy… to get back. Don't waste it… on me."
She thought she felt his hand move up to caress her cheek, but her experience of sensation had nearly disappeared. Yet somehow she understood him perfectly when he said, "It's not a waste, never with you, Rose."
"Go," she whispered.
Suddenly his presence was gone, but she heard his words drifting hazily toward her. "I'll be back for you."
Rose was so tired. The task of maintaining the physical illusions was too much, and now that the Doctor had gone it was unnecessary. She thought that perhaps she sank to the ground. Finally she could rest. A gentle sense of tranquility spread through her as she released herself from all sensation and thought.
The Doctor sped through the fissure, drawn irrevocably toward the crypt. He knew that his brain was still functioning; the connection was growing stronger as he neared his body. The experience was odd but not completely unfamiliar to him. It reminded him a bit of astral projection. The tricky part was always in the return. But he was a clever—no, exceedingly clever—fellow, and he'd faced steeper obstacles before. Besides, this time round he thought he might have some help. After all, he had only been separated from his physical form to receive the message, and now it was time to deliver it. Granted, others had failed in this task, but he doubted that they had fully comprehended the situation.
However, when he reached the wall beyond which lay the crypt, he stopped short, relief immediately supplanted by frustration. He had expected to re-enter his body with a rush; the electrical impulses generated by his brain should serve as a receiver of sorts, naturally retrieving the errant energy once he was within reasonable range. He felt the pull, the innate attraction attempting to draw him back, but the massive, solid stone blocked his passage.
He tried to move against it, tried to force himself through some tiny, nearly invisible crack, but he met only resistance. He slid up toward the ceiling, searching for a point of entry, but he could find nothing. He wondered briefly how much time had passed since he had left Rose. He knew that she had precious few minutes remaining; the weakening of her energy signaled the initial stages of cerebral shut-down. It was very possible, in truth quite plausible, that it was already too late. Once deprived of oxygen, her poor little human brain would not be able to recover.
And here he was, mere meters away from her, but he was at an impasse. Yet the pull was still strong. For a few moments he was perplexed. It made no sense; there was no apparent way to move between the stone and the crypt on the other side, yet he could still feel the connection to his body. He knew that psychic transmissions were fairly unsophisticated from a purely electrical point of view, so how was it possible that they could penetrate stone?
If he'd had an actual body at his disposal, complete with limbs, the Doctor would have slapped his forehead. He did, and rather hard, metaphorically as understanding washed over him.
He had been too literal in his thinking. The stone before him was not really stone at all, at least not in truly scientific terms. Oh, he had no doubt that it possessed many of the characteristics of stone, but it had something else, too, something that he had overlooked in an incredibly massive way. He was spending way too much time around humans; their narrow-minded thinking and concepts were obviously rubbing off on him. He berated himself for a few moments for that, then focused on the task at hand.
Funny how it often all came down to communication. Well, sometimes it all came down to running fast, really, really fast, but he liked to think of that as a last option. Usually he was good at talking his way through perturbing problems and sticky issues. At the moment, talking wouldn't do any good, but communication certainly would.
The Doctor moved to press his entire essence up against the wall. As he did, he opened his thoughts to touch the emotion emanating all around him. Once again he was overwhelmed by sorrow, agony, and loss. But he did not back away; he embraced it all, allowing it to absorb him. He felt himself moving again, at first disconcertingly as his energy spread and thinned to pass through the miniscule spaces. He was disintegrating, quite literally, in order to penetrate the stone-like material.
If he had been quite himself, he probably would have panicked. But such emotion was impossible when little bits of him were dispersed throughout a rather substantial space. Still, he sensed apprehension and fear. At first he thought that they were his own emotions bubbling through, but then he knew that he felt the memories of the entities with which he was so intimately joined.
If he had been able to speak, he would have told them that he understood, that he would help them, and that he was so, so sorry for what had been done to them. Perhaps they understood him anyway, because suddenly he felt himself tightening, coalescing, as he emerged into the darkness of the crypt.
In an instant he felt the solidness of his own body, and he knew that he was back where he belonged. His first instinct was to take a breath, but of course there was no oxygen in the chamber, so he coughed and spluttered for a moment before he relaxed and allowed his respiratory bypass to function naturally. He lay for a few seconds gathering his strength, then he sat and slid from the slab.
The interior of the crypt was utterly black. He reached into his pocket for the sonic screwdriver, but his favorite device was gone. He checked all of his pockets to no avail. In the absence of light, he had to fumble about to find the slab upon which Rose lay. He touched her hair first, then, orientating himself quickly, moved his hand down to press against her neck. As he expected, there was no pulse, and her skin was very cool. He parted her lips, which were slack and pliant against his fingers, then bent to exhale into her mouth. His body produced just enough oxygen for a light breath.
There was no time for anything else. He dragged Rose from the plinth, then felt his way along the wall until he found the heavy stone that covered the doorway. Oh, this was going to prove a challenge. Truth be told, he wasn't even certain that the stone could be moved from the inside. He ran his fingers around the edges; the seal was extremely tight and well-fitting. There was nothing to grip, no way to gain purchase or create momentum.
He bent to exhale again into Rose's mouth. His body couldn't produce enough oxygen for two; he knew that, but still he had to try. He felt for her pulse again, but there was nothing.
Frustration and alarm swept over him. He hit the stone hard with his palms, just once, and uttered, "No!"
It was hopeless. He was trapped, able to survive for perhaps another few hours. But Rose—it was probably already too late for her. Even if someone should enter the crypt before his body ceased functioning, there was no chance for her. She had been so passionate about delivering the message, stopping the pain, and now she would die without the knowledge that she had helped alleviate the suffering of thousands.
The Doctor sank to the ground, slumping forward to rest his forehead against the cold, smooth stone. He had failed her. He had failed everyone.
She was floating in darkness. There was no thought, no sensation, just a quiet, soft, endless and starless night. Rose wanted to relinquish herself completely to the blackness. It beckoned her, enveloping her with peace. But there was something… some tiny little bit scratching and niggling at her. Wasn't there something she had meant to do?
Well, it was of little consequence now. She was floating again, reaching out for the lovely blanket of black. Memories faded, feelings fled, and Rose was nothing anymore.
The Doctor's hands moved slowly over the stone. He whispered an apology, sorry that his frustration had led him to strike the surface. Then he hunched over, once again breathing into Rose. The effort left him woozy.
"I didn't mean to do that," he murmured, stroking gentle fingers over the cool rock. "I'm afraid I'm a bit out of my head right now. But I won't hurt you again, and I'll do whatever I can to stop the pain. I promise."
His voice echoed hollowly in the chamber. He could feel the gentle vibration in the stone beneath his palms. Indeed, the soft words hummed back at him. He was still light-headed, and admittedly not at his best intellectually, but even with limited mental capacity he knew that his voice could not cause the reverberation he felt against his hands.
Suddenly the Doctor smiled. "Oh yes," he said, "that's it! That's just what we need."
Within seconds the delicious tang of oxygen filled the stale air. A tiny crack of light appeared at the edge of the sealing stone. He inhaled deeply then immediately bent to exhale into Rose's mouth. He gave her a dozen breaths, then a dozen more.
"Come on, Rose," he entreated, "come back."
He lifted his head and pressed his fingers over the pulse point in her neck. He felt nothing. Hand clenching into a frustrated fist, he slumped over her.