EIGHTEEN

"Damn it," the Doctor growled, kneeling by Martha's side. He knew that if she woke again, and that was if, she would be incoherent and hallucinating. If he didn't act now, he would never, ever again speak to Martha Jones as he had known her. He lifted her limp body up off the platform with tears in his eyes.

They had all agreed that the Londoners should not see Jack revive at all. Therefore, the Doctor addressed the accused nobleman. "Good Sir Chastain, can you please help the Friar here to move the body of our friend back into our transport?"

"Er, certainly," Sir Chastain said. He held his hands out to the executioner to be untied, and then he took Jack's boots in his hands while Feeno took the shoulders. The two of them carried the Torchwood leader back into the TARDIS.

When the nobleman saw the inside of the vessel, he opened his mouth to cry out, but Feeno placed one smooth purple hand over his mouth. Just then, Jack sat up. This again caused the nobleman to want to cry out, but the two of them restrained him. When he calmed, Jack said, "Please, from one gentleman to another: never a word to anyone. The fate of the world may depend upon it."

Jack wasn't sure if that last part was actually true, but it worked. Chastain hesitated, then nodded subtly. He exited the TARDIS looking haggard.

The Doctor entered, carrying Martha as tears flowed freely. He laid her down on the floor where she had been before, and covered her with the blanket they had brought from his bedroom.

"Jack, may I borrow your coat?" he asked, stricken.

"Yes, of course," Jack answered, climbing out of his pea coat. He handed it to the Doctor, who folded it up and placed it beneath Martha's head.

"Sorry," the Doctor said. "We'll probably have to burn it now."

"It's okay. I have five of them," Jack assured him. "Don't forget your bedclothes and the suit you have on."

"It's okay," the Doctor said with a weak smile. "Got about fifty of those."

Silence fell upon the control room as the Doctor gazed upon his dying love. Suddenly, he got to his feet.

"Right, then," he announced, clapping his hands. "Let's get this boat moving. It's 2007 or bust!"

"Doctor, wait," Feeno interrupted, gesturing to the impotent Namuh. "What about this lot?"

"Oh right," the Time Lord replied, running his hand uncertainly through his hair. "I suppose we'll just have to restrain them in one of the back rooms until after we get some help for Martha. We can't have them around humans. Thoughts might incite them back to action."

Jack used a stunning weapon to coax the three aliens back down the hallway. Before he left earshot, he called out, "Doctor, you'd better say goodbye!"

Exasperated at the time being wasted, the Doctor exhaled heavily. Then he stepped outside the TARDIS back into 1350. The crowd had been silently awaiting his return. They cheered.

He calmed them quickly, and thanked them for their help. He assured them that the Earth would live a long, happy life because of their efforts. They cheered again.

"One more thing," he said to them, just before disappearing from their lives forever. "I think Sir Chastain ought to be spared. The Lord forgiveth, yeah?"

The murmur took hold once more, and then someone finally said, "Who are we to argue with the benevolence of Our Lord?" The murmur turned to one of agreement.

"Thank you, Doctor," Chastain said, shaking his hand.

"You're welcome," the Doctor said with a smile. "Now just stay away from other people's fiancées, will you? Perhaps even find your own?"

"You have my word," Chastain answered earnestly.

"Good."

With a wave to the crowd, the Doctor re-entered the TARDIS to find Jack and Feeno waiting patiently to be taken to a later time, and Martha lying on the floor where he'd left her. That sight spurned him once again into hearts-pumping action. It was time to run.

When the TARDIS came, literally, to a screeching halt, the Doctor ran for the door and looked outside. The London Eye. Multitudes of tourists crossing Westminster Bridge. A cart with Union Jack hats, scarves, and iPod cases for sale was parked nearby. Success. Early twenty-first century, Royal Hope Hospital would be nearby.

Jack and Feeno went to get Martha. "What do you want us to do?" Jack asked as the two of them prepared to hoist her.

"Nothing yet," the Doctor said. "The nearest hospital is the one where she's doing her clinical rotations, if we are, in fact, in the right year at the right time. And they will have just seen her last week. We can't just go in there and tell them she has the bubonic plague, they'll have us put away."

"Right. So what's the plan?"

"I'll go. You stay here with her. Have you got your mobile phone?"

"Yes," Jack answered, extracting it from his pocket.

The Doctor turned Martha on her side and reached into her hip pocket. "Now I've got one too." They quickly exchanged and programmed numbers.

"You phone me if she wakes up," the Doctor said firmly.

"You got it, Doc," Jack agreed. "You call if you get into any trouble. We'll come running." Feeno nodded in agreement.

"Thanks, I will."

"Here, take this." Jack offered his pistol.

"No thanks," the Doctor said, patting his breast pocket. "I've got all the weapon I need."

Tourists and locals alike stared at the frantic man in the suit and trainers, sprinting across Westminster Bridge and practically tipping sideways as he screeched around the corner to the right. A few cries of "Oi, watch it!" rung out, but mostly there was just puzzlement and getting out of his way.

As he approached the hospital, he slowed down, not wanting to arouse suspicion. He forced himself to calm as he entered the hospital's main doors. Straight ahead, he asked the receptionist, "Internal medicines?"

"Fourth floor," she answered.

"Thank you."

When he was in the stairwell, he gave himself to sprinting again. He took the stairs three at a time, and when he arrived, he extracted his psychic paper from his breast pocket.

He bypassed the nurses' station and headed straight for a door marked, "Medical Personnel Only." He sonicked his way in, and found himself in a laboratory with three intelligent-looking humans in white coats. They all looked at him confusedly and blinked.

Finally, one of them asked, "May I help you?"

"Yes," the Doctor answered. "I'm on official business with the Tardis Commission of Medicine, very urgent, on orders of Dr. Avery, your hospital's administrator." He flashed his psychic credentials. The man looked at them quite carefully.

"And what do you need, exactly?"

"I'm going to need a few antibiotics in intravenous form," he explained. "An experiment with some lab rats has gone haywire, and we need to reverse the effects."

"Lab rats?"

"Yes, Dr. Harkness, he's my boss, he's very attached to the little guys," the Doctor riffed. "He loves all creatures great and small."

Again the room was silent. The other two lab coats had not moved since the Doctor's arrival. Time was of the essence, as usual, which prompted him to backpedal. "Not to mention, of course, the infinite medical benefits to humankind by finding out how to reverse the effects..."

"Oh yes, of course," the bolder of the three lab coats said. "Dr...?"

"Doctor Smith," the Time Lord answered, shaking the man's hand.

The young researcher grabbed a pen and a pad, and said, "What will you need?"

"I'll need vials of streptomycin, chloramphenicol, tetracycline, and fluoroquinolones. Perhaps also some doxycycline and gentamicin, just to be on the safe side."

As the young man took down the Doctor's order, he glanced over his glasses at the high-strung newcomer. "Really? That exact combination Dr. Smith?"

"Yes," the Doctor answered.

"I see," the researcher said. He swallowed hard and glanced at one of the other researchers. The other two both gave him knowing glances, and then returned to their work. "I'll get this for you right away," he said.

He disappeared through a door to the side, and returned roughly five minutes later with a toolbox-looking thing marked biohazard.

"There are six syringes inside," he said, handing the box to the Doctor. "I took the liberty. Will you be needing anything else?"

The young man seemed inordinately nervous, but the Doctor simply said, "No, thank you."

The researcher simply smiled pleasantly, giving the Doctor leave to go. The Doctor thanked him again and headed out the door.

When he was gone, one of the other researchers exploded in anger. "James! How could you do that?" she cried out.

The third lab coat got to his feet as well. "That was bloody stupid! Bloody stupid of you!"

The first researcher whose name was James replied, "Check the book, my friends. The protocol very plainly says to give the perpetrator what he asks for and let him believe he has succeeded, then to make the call."

"So you actually gave him those drugs? You just gave him what he wanted?" the female demanded.

"Yes," James said emphatically and smugly. "As per the anti-terrorism protocol in which we were all trained. Now if you'll excuse me, I need to call in a terrorist threat."