Chapter 3 – "Burning"

The Doctor and Martha managed together to stagger down the corridor to the kitchen, thankfully without any further spasms, but he was shaking from the exertion by the time they got there.

Martha carefully lowered him into a chair at the table, then went to get out the tea things. Fortunately, she'd been the last one to make the tea, so she knew where everything was. The Doctor tended to put things away in ridiculous places. She was still trying to figure out why he'd put the kettle in the refrigerator, with the kettle still plugged in no less.

She put the kettle on and got out a mug, then hesitated. There was a bewildering array of teas stocked in the TARDIS cupboards, many of them definitely not from Earth. She hadn't been brave enough to try any of the unfamiliar ones yet.

She turned to look at him and noticed he'd managed to get his suit jacket off and had laid it across the seat of the chair next to him. At least that was an improvement on the floor. He never left his clothing on the floor, at least not that she'd seen. For all she knew, his bedroom might be strewn with piles of dirty laundry.

"Does it matter what kind of tea?" she asked as she watched him pull his tie off and drop it on top of the suit jacket. She hoped he wasn't going to rattle off some name that sounded like gargling, because she'd have no idea how that was spelled, despite the TARDIS helpfully translating all the labels into phonetic English.

He began to slowly and deliberately undo the buttons on his shirt as he said, "No, doesn't matter." She was beginning to wonder if he was going to take his shirt off entirely, for what reason she couldn't imagine, but he stopped with the top three buttons. "No, wait. Decaffeinated. Last thing I need is another stimulant." He let his arms fall limply onto the tabletop. "And make it as strong as possible."

His left hand twitched a couple of times before he pulled it into a fist. She noticed there was a fine sheen of sweat across his face and he was every bit as ghostly pale as he'd been when she'd found him lying unconscious on the platform at the top of the Empire State Building.

She pushed that uncomfortable memory aside and turned to rummage in one of the cupboards in search of decaffeinated tea. Not an easy undertaking. He seemed to prefer the caffeinated varieties. No surprise there. She finally found one lone box of decaf Earl Grey – that'd be nice and mild on his stomach – pulled out two teabags and put them both in the mug. Then she paused. He'd said make it as strong as possible. She added another teabag. That didn't leave much room for water, though, so she took the lid off the teapot and dumped in those three tea bags plus a few more. She poured in hot water, but didn't completely fill the teapot to help concentrate the tea.

While she was willing the tea to brew quickly and wondering if the extra teabags would compensate if she let them steep less time than usual, she heard him suck in his breath and let out a low moan. She turned in time to see his head slamming down onto the table. She winced. "Are you okay?" she asked, realizing as she said it that it was a completely ridiculous question. Of course he wasn't okay. He opened one eye to look at her then closed it again and left his head on the table. Apparently he wasn't even going to dignify the question with a response.

He was taking short and shallow breaths, but seemed to be resting for the moment, so she turned to check the strength of the tea. Good enough. She didn't want to wait any longer. She removed the entire mass of dripping teabags and poured half a mug. As shaky as he was, he'd probably spill it if she filled it any more than that.

She put her hand on his back to get his attention and set the mug down on the table next to him. He sniffed and turned his head toward the tea, then opened bleary eyes. "Can you drink it without milk?" she asked. "I didn't want to dilute it. I can add some sugar."

Sitting up slowly, he drew the mug towards him. "No, this is fine. Just what I need." As he cautiously raised the mug to his mouth, she moved his jacket and tie over one chair, sat down next to him and waited expectantly.

The mug rattled a bit against his teeth, but he managed to take a fairly large swallow, then another and another. The tea was still scalding hot, but that didn't seem to affect him. Then he paused with the mug hovering near his mouth, and his eyes went wide. "Or not," he choked out. He gagged as he slammed the mug onto the table, then clapped a hand over his mouth, pushed himself up and lurched over to the sink. He grabbed the edge of the counter as everything he'd just drunk came right back up.

She was more than a bit taken aback. Yawning, now vomiting. Maybe he wasn't quite as different as she'd told Tallulah.

Right. She'd dealt with people getting sick often enough during her shifts in A and E. She could handle this. At least he'd had the presence of mind to get it in the sink and not on the floor, himself or her. She got up and went over to him, then turned the water on to rinse everything down the drain. He was still clutching the counter, panting and staring hard at the bottom of the sink. As she waited, fairly certain he wasn't done, she rubbed gentle circles on his back. He gagged and brought up some more tea, then retched and dry heaved. She bit her lower lip. She hated that part. Would almost set her off every time. Fortunately, he only did it a couple of times and then went still.

He turned off the water with a shaky hand and drew the back of his hand across his mouth, then stretched his arm out next to the sink and rested his head on it. His eyes were open but he seemed to be staring blankly at nothing in particular. He looked so vulnerable and agonizingly human to her at that moment that it made her stomach twist almost painfully.

After a moment, he closed his eyes and started to slide down towards the floor. She helped him to sit down with his back against the lower cabinets and his legs stretched out in front of him. Crouching down next to him, she said, "So tea is apparently not the answer. Is there anything else we can try?"

He shook his head quickly. "No, don't want to try anything else, thank you very much. My body's starting to break the acid down into relatively harmless components, but there's still quite a bit of residual adrenalin, and it's still metabolizing into acid. This is probably going to get worse before it gets better. Sorry. Oh, very sorry. Sorrier than sorry."

She smiled faintly. "No need to apologize. You're still an idiot, though." He made a huffing sound that might've been laughter if he hadn't been so wrung out. Her stomach twisted again. "How about we move you somewhere a little more comfortable?"

He immediately said, "No," then gulped. "No, I'd really rather not try to move at the moment." He put his hands on the floor and pushed himself away from the cabinets, then laid down on his side. He curled up slightly and pressed the side of his face against the floor. "Ah, cool tile. I love tile. Cleans up very nicely too if one happens to be sick on it. But I really hope that's not going to happen again." As he closed his eyes, he wrapped his arms across his chest. A tremor rippled through his body and he started to shiver.

"Are you cold?" she asked, hoping that was all it was. That was easily dealt with.

"A bit."

"Will you be all right here by yourself for a minute?"

"Not going anywhere," he mumbled.

She smiled fondly at him, resisting the urge to brush his fringe off his forehead. She had a feeling that even in his exhausted state, he wouldn't appreciate it at all.

She got up, went to her bedroom and pulled a spare pillow and duvet out of the wardrobe. Went she got back to the kitchen, he appeared to be asleep. His body was more relaxed even though he was still shivering slightly, and he was breathing slowly and deeply, albeit with an occasional catch on inhaling. She stood there and looked at him for a moment. His face looked so young with his eyes closed. Now it was her heart that was twisting.

His shoulders twitched, knocking his head against the floor a couple of times. That quickly broke her out of her reverie. She spread the duvet over him, knelt beside him and tucked the pillow under his head, then settled herself crossed-legged next to him. Without thinking, she found herself brushing at his hair, but he only shifted a little and mumbled something that sounded suspiciously like, "Go 'way. Wanna sleep."

She gave his hair another good ruffle, causing his forehead to wrinkle in annoyance, and then she leaned her head back against the cupboards. She was starting to drift off herself when he gasped. She jerked her head back up and found him looking at her with his lips pressed so tightly together they'd been leeched of all color. "Sorry," he said. "Didn't mean to wake you."

"It's fine. I wasn't really sleeping. Are the pains coming back?"

She could tell he was thinking about lying, but she fixed him with a no-nonsense stare. He reluctantly nodded his head. She took a deep breath and let it out slowly, wracking her brain for something she could do. "Is there anything I can give you, painkillers, muscle relaxants?"

"Mostly allergic to painkillers, muscle relaxants really, really make me ill. Really. Horribly ill. Best just to let my body sort through this itself."

A moment later, he squeezed his eyes shut and tucked his head down as a violent spasm ran through him. This was going to be a long night, or whatever part of the day it was supposed to be.