2.
Benton winced as he stood against the wall, watching and at the same time wishing he weren't watching. In fact, he thought, he'd pretty much rather watch anything else over a friend being patched up from his very own bungling. The young night medic and his matronly nurse worked to treat the wound that stained the unconscious Time Lord's chest, the nurse consulting the slim file they had on their unusual patient for hints of what they should or shouldn't do and the medic muttering under his breath.
"Don't we have any painkillers he can use?" the medic grumbled. He poked around in the kit he'd set up beside the bed. "Maybe we could try…"
The nurse was shaking her head in consternation. "The directives say not to give him anything that he hasn't already approved ahead of time. I wouldn't risk it and if you've any sense you won't either."
"I know, I know, I just hate leaving a patient with nothing. Not even a shot of whiskey seems a bit barbaric."
"He's still out," she noted firmly. "If you move quick, you might get it done before he even wakes up."
"Right, right. That's another thing, why's he out? A chest wound shouldn't knock him out like this, he hasn't lost that much blood and there's no evidence of concussion…besides, some of these notes don't match up with this."
Benton looked away again, feeling simply horrible inside. What had he done? Even moreso though, what had the Doctor been doing? He stepped out of the little room to lean against the wall in the hallway instead. One of the fluorescent lighting tubes was buzzing, which right then was a welcome distraction from the medical discussion.
He pondered the options. He'd seen him creeping up on the motionless sentry, that much was certain. The rest was conjecture. He'd shot him because, well, he thought he was an intruder and about to shoot down the sentry at that. There'd been a gun, that was true, though it was the sentry's own firearm inexplicably in the Doctor's hand. The sentry, who had suddenly snapped out of his strange trance to express nothing but confusion had been no help at all; he didn't remember any of it.
So, Benton thought, if he wasn't stealing the sentry's firearm (and why would the Doctor need to be out in the dark hypnotising a man and pinching his gun anyway?) then there had to be another explanation. Had he been out, perhaps checking on that car of his, and been returning a weapon that had been accidentally dropped? While Benton was inclined to be generous towards the Doctor's pacifist tendencies, this only fit if the sentry had fallen asleep on his feet while holding it and let it slip from his fingers. Extremely unlikely and it didn't explain the man's odd behaviour either.
And now he was unconscious, though he shouldn't be. Benton wondered if he'd put himself under since he was hurt. He sighed. There'd probably be some answer once the Doctor woke up and no doubt it would make sense. He bloody well hoped so.
Either way, he owed him an apology at the very least.
Which reminded him of another person he would have to apologize to: the Doctor's assistant.
If Jo had to hear that he'd shot her mentor, he really would rather she heard it straight from him, not secondhand. And the way word sometimes got about this supposedly secret place, the sooner the better. Tonight, in fact. Before he could lose his resolve, he went to the nearest phone where it hung on the wall, picked up the receiver and doggedly dialed her number.
--
Phones ringing always sounded louder in the dark.
Josephine Grant clicked on her lamp and shook off her sleep, reaching for the phone. Anytime it rang this late at night she always found her heart jumped a bit; she sincerely hoped it was only a wrong number or something. Her aunt had called only this past week to ramble about her uncle's possible heart condition and she'd offered the usual platitudes and comforts to assure it was probably nothing. What if had turned out to be serious after all? The receiver's plastic felt cold against her cheek.
"Hello?"
--
Benton hung up the phone, unsure if he were frustrated or relieved that her line was still engaged. He went back to the little room where the medical night staff were speaking more quietly to one another as they finished up what they could do for now and tried to make their still-unconscious patient as comfortable as possible.
Going out, the nurse nudged the Sergeant with them and gently pulled the door nearly to. "We've done all we can for now. It wasn't as bad as we feared and it helped that he's still dead to the world." She put a hand to her mouth. "Oh, I mean, he's still unconscious, terribly sorry."
The medic gave her an annoyed look and looked up at the Sergeant. "He should wake up soon, and then I'm sure he'll be able to tell us what he needs. Will you be here for a while?"
"Yes," Benton said. "If you need to go wash up, I'll watch."
"Thanks, but the nurse will be right in the next room, so you don't really need to. In fact, I would think if you were his assailant, it might be better to not be right there, if you catch my meaning." The young doctor looked distinctly uncomfortable. "Even if it was accidental…sometimes the other chap isn't so understanding at first, and well, there'll have to be a report written up anyway, of course." The Sergeant realised the man was looking at him with something like sympathy.
"Of course," Benton acknowledged with an unhappy nod. "Right. I guess I'll… go take care of the report then."
The medic nodded. "That would probably be best."
--