Rose was white, her skin waxen and cold. The Doctor quickly pulled the needle from her bruised arm. A drop of blood oozed slowly from the site; by some miracle, her heart was still beating. He pressed his fingers against the pulse point in her throat. The beat was alarmingly slow and weak. He reached back to the night table for the stethoscope, fingers brushing against something smooth and cool. He glanced over, eyes widening in horror when he saw the full jar of blood.
"Two?" he gasped, utterly appalled. "You took two more pints from her?"
"I told you that one wasn't enough," Wembur replied.
"The hell it wasn't! I've already administered the antitoxin to the sickest children, and I have a dose for the Prince, too—"
"The King wants you to treat all of them. We want this situation to end well, with everyone recovering successfully."
"I had every intention of doing that," the Doctor spat.
"I'm sure you did. But the King has more expedient ideas."
"Oh, I see," the Doctor retorted sharply. "How lovely, how positively perfect. Everybody lives, everyone's okay and hunky-dory, and no one's the wiser about the recurrence of the disease or where it started. Or wait, have I got that wrong? Maybe word spreads—maybe it already has. But the King's staff will create a marvelous cure, and the parents will be thrilled, and everyone will think the King is a big ol' hero, oh yes indeed, King Cure 'Em All. Have I got it right?"
"Tell me honestly, Doctor. Can you guarantee that all the children would survive if you'd waited?"
"I can guarantee that Rose would have." He reached for her cold, limp hand.
"I am sorry. Truly, I am." There was a hint of deep emotion in the man's tone. "But sometimes one person must make a sacrifice for the good of others. I understand that Miss Tyler exposed herself to the illness willfully, with the express purpose of helping the children. That's just what she's going to do. I imagine she'll be heralded as a heroine—"
"Rose didn't intend to give her life for this!"
Fury roiled through him. His hands shook as he shoved the stethoscope's earpieces into place. He pressed the end over her chest, listening to the frail, irregular beat. She was badly hypovolemic, her body literally drained of crucial fluid volume. A young, healthy person would be in some danger with this degree of blood loss. A weak individual would face death.
He'd set the syringe upon the night table. He barely noticed as Wembur snatched it up and left the room. He heard the physician's instructions to the guards; they were to escort the Doctor back to the lab immediately to prepare the next batch of serum.
His hands were on Rose's face, gripping her pale, cold cheeks. As his fingers pressed against her temples, he saw a chasm, stretching down, down, down with no bottom in sight.
"No, Rose," he beseeched, "you can't go. Please, you have to try… you have to hang on."
Tears were hot against his cheeks, but he did not notice. When one of the guards placed a firm hand upon his shoulder he stiffened and turned his head to glare with unflinching menace at the intruder. "Leave," he commanded.
The Sentry hesitated. "You have to come with us—"
"No."
"I'm sorry, Sir," the Sentry said, clearly moved by the scene before him, "but it's the King's orders."
"No."
"Sir, I don't want to force you, but there's nothing more you can do for her. I was a soldier, and I saw battle, and I know when someone's dying—"
"Shut up! You don't know anything!"
"Please, sir—"
A familiar voice interjected. "It's all right. I'll see that he follows the King's orders."
Some part of his tortured, bereft mind realized that Marden was speaking. He returned his full attention to Rose, stroking her cheek and murmuring softly to her. Somewhere far away he heard voices, but they were unimportant. All that mattered was Rose.
"Doctor," Marden was saying, a gentle hand resting against his back. "What can we do? Is there any way to help her?"
The Time Lord spared him a glance, suddenly realizing that they were alone in the room. "You've sent them away?" he asked.
"For now. We have a little time. So tell me, is there anything you can do for her?"
The Doctor took a deep breath then hauled himself to his feet. He swallowed, hard. "No." His eyes moved to the jar and its crimson contents. "But there may be something you can do."
"Of course, anything."
The Doctor grabbed the Sentry's arm and pricked him with an unused needle. As soon as the blood began to well, he dabbed at it with his finger then lifted his hand to his mouth. His tongue darted over the blood. "AB positive."
"What?"
The Doctor rubbed at his eye. "You're not compatible."
"I'm sorry. What are you planning?"
"A transfusion. If I can find a compatible donor, I may be able to save her."
"I'll get Ilaine." Marden swept from the room, returning less than a minute later with his bemused wife.
"Doctor? Oh, Lord, Rose!" the woman said upon seeing the prone, still form upon the bed. "What's happened?"
"She needs blood," the Doctor replied shortly. "Give me your hand."
Without question the woman complied. The needle darted beneath her skin, then Doctor tasted the scarlet drop. "O. You're type O."
Ilaine shook her head. "I don't know what you mean…"
"I mean that you're compatible! You can save her life."
Ilaine appeared shocked, but she nodded. "Just tell me what to do."
The Doctor rushed back to the lab to retrieve the necessary equipment then quickly set up the transfusion. Ilaine sat stoically in the chair beside Rose's bed after sending her husband to stay with the children.
In any other circumstance, the Time Lord would not have dreamt of doing a direct transfusion. With this method it was very difficult to determine precisely how much blood Ilaine was donating. Despite his extreme concern for Rose, he knew that he could not permit the other woman to give her more than a pint and a half. He couldn't, and wouldn't, place anyone else in danger.
If Rose didn't show improvement by the time Ilaine demonstrated signs of weakness, he'd stop the transfusion and find someone else to donate additional blood. A part of him actually hoped that Wembur was compatible; he'd love to jab the needle into the physician's arm, imparting a nasty bruise just as the man had left on Rose with his careless actions.
But he pushed aside vengeful thoughts, focusing his attention on Rose and Ilaine. Rose's skin remained cool, but the frightening cold had gone. That was definitely a positive sign. Her pulse was just a bit stronger, too.
"Is it helping?" Ilaine asked.
The Doctor nodded. "Yes. Thank you. How're you feeling?"
"I'm all right."
Actually she was quite pale, and it occurred to the Time Lord that she probably hadn't eaten a proper meal—if anything at all—since her children had fallen ill. She hadn't slept, either. He took her wrist gently, noting that her skin was cool, too. Her pulse was a little weak as well.
"I don't think you'll be able to give her much more," he said.
"Oh, I'm fine, really. And if it's helping her, then I want to keep going."
"Ilaine—"
"Really, Doctor," she said, voice rich with sincerity, "this is the least I can do. You and Rose have given us so much. Please, let me do this for you and her."
Against his better judgment, he permitted her to continue. Rose was, in fact, improving. Her heartbeat was marginally stronger, and her color was a tiny bit better. He felt there was a good chance that she would survive. He knew she'd remain very weak, but it seemed the dire peril was passing. He spared a few moments to rest his hand against her cheek, fingertips at her temple. The chasm he'd seen before was now a fissure, and with concentration he could perceive the bottom. In the darkness there were swirls of vague sensation and hazy impressions of shards of memory.
"That's it, Rose," he told her. "Just keep fighting."
A small noise behind him caused him to lift his head. Ilaine was slumping down in the chair, rapidly sliding to the ground. He leaned over quickly and wrapped his arms about her, pulling her back up.
"Ilaine?" he said, checking her pulse. It was thready. She did not respond to his queries. "Damn it," he muttered, angry at himself. He'd gone too far.
He removed the needle from her arm and carried her around to the other side of the large bed. He lay her down gently. As he spread a blanket over her, he noticed the slight swell of her belly; it had been hidden before by the cut of her dress. He scanned her quickly with the sonic screwdriver.
"Oh Ilaine," he said softly, "why didn't you tell me?"
He rested his hand over her abdomen and closed his eyes. He could still perceive a wisp of a second life within her, but it was very weak. He sighed. This tale, it seemed, simply could not have a happy ending for all.
The Doctor sat beside the bed for some time. Once or twice he heard voices in the hallway, but no one entered the room. Marden would undoubtedly return at some point. The Doctor didn't know what he would tell him.
When Ilaine began to stir, the Time Lord quickly moved to her side and lifted her head to offer her a few sips of juice. She took them without speaking then moved her gaze to Rose.
"How is she?" she asked,
"She's holding her own," he replied tightly, fixing his eyes upon Ilaine. "You should have told me you're pregnant."
She looked away for a moment, her hand moving to her belly. "You needed my help."
"I could've found someone else—"
"Could you? It seemed very urgent to me."
"Ilaine, your body can't afford to lose blood right now. You were already weak, probably haven't had a decent meal or even a snack in two days, no rest, either… " He raked a hand through his hair. "You may not be able to sustain the pregnancy."
She nodded slowly. "I know. It feels… I feel…" She shuddered a breath, eyes closing against tears.
"I'm sorry."
Her eyes flew open. "No, don't be. You mustn't feel badly about this. It was my decision, and there was no choice in my mind. It was the least I could do."
"Will your husband feel the same way?"
"Yes. The moment he came to get me, he said he wanted me to do whatever was necessary to help Rose."
"I doubt he was aware of the potential consequences."
"Perhaps not. But it doesn't matter." She smiled poignantly. "We both wanted to help."
He took her hand. "Thank you. Now, I'm going to arrange for a good meal for you, and you're going to finish this juice then have some water. And you're going to stay off your feet and get at least six hours of sleep."
"I can't possibly—"
He lifted a hand and waggled his finger at her. "No arguments. Doctor's orders. I'll see that the children are taken care of."
"But you need to rest, too."
"Actually, I don't, not really."
He staved off further discussion by bustling around the room then slipping off to the infirmary for a few minutes to arrange for some food and see how the small patients were faring.
When he returned, he told Ilaine that the boys were no worse; her relief brought a blush of color to her pale cheeks. Rose remained wan and dangerously weak, though. If necessary he would find another blood donor. As Ilaine had said so emphatically, it was the least anyone could do.
To be continued…