The Doctor cobbled together several workable IVs with sufficient saline to hydrate the sickest patients. He sent one to the palace with brief written instructions for Wembur, hoping the physician was competent to introduce the line successfully. He didn't want to see any harm befall the young Prince, but there wasn't time for him to oversee the procedure himself.
With a few words to assuage Ilaine's fears upon seeing the strange device, he rigged a stand and gently inserted the line into Raben's arm. Wess and the other toddler, as well as the sickest girl, also received the hydrating solution. That done, the Doctor returned to Rose.
Her condition was unchanged. He hung the jar from the high headboard then quickly and efficiently, yet with sufficient care to ensure that he left no bruise, inserted the needle into her hand. She flinched momentarily and made a little noise.
"Sshh, Rose, everything's fine. I'm just giving you some fluids. They'll help you to feel better." He secured the line in place with a narrow strip of cloth bandage, wishing he'd thought to toss a few more modern sticking plasters into one of his copious pockets.
He sat back for a moment. He'd done all he could—hadn't he? But Rose needed more. The children's recovery depended entirely upon her. Maybe he should still try to get to the TARDIS… But that seemed like a foolish plan. If one of the guards shot him in blind zeal to obey the King's directive, he wouldn't be able to help anyone. If only he had something to boost her immunity, to nudge her body in the right direction.
He removed the cloth from her forehead and dipped it into the bowl of water at the bedside. Before reapplying to her brow, he placed his palm against her cheek, taking a moment to adjust the temperature of his extremities so that his hand would feel particularly cooling against her hot skin.
She drew a shuddering breath at the touch then exhaled slowly.
"Too cold?" he murmured, retracting his hand. He stared at the appendage for a few seconds. He could control his own physiology; if he were ill, he could instruct his body to produce phagocytes to reduce the infection significantly. As a human, of course, Rose, could not accomplish this feat.
He sighed, eyes moving to her face. Several strands of hair lay damply across her brow. He brushed them away with his fingertips, permitting them to linger against her temple. His eyes widened momentarily as an idea began to burble at the back of his mind.
Yes, Rose was human and could not exert any real control over the inner workings of her body, but some humans could learn to alter their heart rates and brain waves through deep meditation. And he could delve into her mind; he'd already eased her discomfort somewhat using this process. In part it involved slight shifts in her organs' function.
It was possible—remotely, he admitted, but still—that he might be able to direct her mind so that it could guide her body to a much greater extent. If he could just encourage her bone marrow to increase lymphocyte production, she could fight the infection more effectively.
He had never attempted such a deep psychic and physical connection with a human. If she were a Time Lord, he would know precisely what to do to spur her body into action. The neural pathways would be clear, and he would be able to tap into each system without significant difficulty. As a human, though, Rose's mind and body would resist his efforts to direct it; that was simply human nature. Yet if he could transcend that initial barrier, there was a very slim chance that his plan could work.
He knew it was a long shot, but he and Rose had faced similar odds before.
The Doctor drew a deep breath and leaned forward to rest his fingers against her temples. He felt the heat of her fever, the deep aches throughout her limbs, the weight of her chest. He delved a bit deeper, finding her heartbeat without difficulty. He concentrated his efforts on altering her heart marginally, just to see if he could. The pulse beneath his fingertip slowed.
"Yes, Rose," he breathed. "That's it. I'm going to help you, but you have to allow me into your mind completely." As he spoke the words, he sent their meaning into her mind as well.
There was a little spark of defiance, a small flash that nearly caused his own mind to stumble back.
"Rose," he whispered, "it's all right. Trust me." He lowered his head to press a soft kiss over her brow.
The resistance ebbed and gradually dissipated.
The Doctor focused further, and soon he could sense other major organs. He winced at the state of her liver and nearly recoiled at the toxins coursing through her bloodstream as a result of poor liver and kidney function. The saline would help with that, providing much-needed hydration and a boost to her kidneys. Indeed, a few moments of intense concentration showed him that it was already beginning to work.
He found the link to her bones and channeled all his psychic energy into spurring them to enhance production of cytotoxic T and B cells within their marrow, visualizing the configuration, chemical and cellular structure of each. So powerful was his concentration that, for a matter of minutes, he sensed nothing else but the delicate, intricate workings of Rose's body.
Finally it was time for him to withdraw from her mind. He'd accomplished all he could. Gradually sensation returned to him, and he felt the heat of her skin beneath his fingers and heard the raspiness of her breath echo in his ears.
He opened his eyes. Rose's flushed cheeks and brow met his gaze. Slowly he shifted his fingers from her temples, permitting them to caress her cheeks for a moment before he sat back in his chair.
His face was slick with perspiration, and he was ineffably exhausted. He poured water into a cup and drank thirstily despite the tremor in his hands. Then he stood on shaky legs.
"I'll be back soon," he told Rose, clasping her hand briefly. "Just rest."
Reluctantly he left her, hoping beyond hope that his efforts had not been in vain.
To be continued…