Part II
"There we are, drink that and you'll feel better," Donna says, helping the young sailor sit up enough to drink the broth from the bowl she holds. He manages a few swallows before he starts coughing and she quickly sets the bowl down and settles him against the pillow again. This room has the sailors with the mildest symptoms, the ones who seem to only have the ordinary flu. Which doesn't mean they aren't suffering – she knows their muscles ache and they are tired from coughing, and their fevers have yet to break despite the aspirin she's forcing on them every few hours. She moves to the next hammock, picking up another bowl from the tray she brought in and offering it to her next patient. Just as she's settling him back against his pillow, the door to the room opens again.
"Everything alright in here?" the Doctor asks, stepping through and moving quickly to help her with the bowls.
"We're fine in here." She resists the urge to touch the face mask she's wearing, although it itches her nose and makes her feel a little claustrophobic. The Doctor's brown eyes regard her solemnly over his own mask, which she insisted he wear despite his assurances that he wouldn't get sick. He's humouring her, she knows, but she's still glad of it. "Hopefully they can keep the soup down," she continues, lacing her fingers behind her back and stretching her shoulders. They feel cramped, as though she's unconsciously hunching them against the low ceilings and tiny rooms.
"Yeah," the Doctor agrees, and his gaze moves from one patient to the next, quickly.
"How are the others?"
He sighs and bends to pick up the tray with the half-empty bowls. He jerks his head toward the door, and Donna follows him into the corridor and back to the galley, where he stacks the bowl in the sink. More dishes, she thinks tiredly, as they wash their hands in silence. She leans back against the bench, feeling the ache in her legs from the long day. The Doctor moves to stand in front of her, reaching back to remove his mask. He reaches to untie hers and removes it, discarding them both as she smiles wearily at him.
"How are the others?" she asks again, fearful of the answer.
"Two more are very ill, and I don't know whether they'll make it through the night," he replies, after a long pause. She reaches for his hand and squeezes it in hers. There are dark circles under his eyes, and she suspects she doesn't look much better. "You should get some rest," he says, as if reading her mind. He cups her cheek and swipes his thumb over her cheekbone, and she leans into his touch.
"There's still too much to be done."
"You need to rest. We still have a few days before we can put into port."
"I know. It's just—" She looks away for a moment, then back at him. "They're so young, so far from home. I hate to think of them alone in those tiny cabins."
He pulls her to him and wraps his arms around her waist, rests his chin on her head. "I know. But you won't do them any good if you're exhausted. Just rest for a few hours."
She sighs and leans against him for a moment, before pushing back. "I have to give out another round of aspirin. Then I'll rest." She steps back and picks up the tray with the aspirin and water pitcher.
"Alright. I'll find us something to eat. And tell the others to come eat something, too. Few enough of them are well enough to help us, we don't want them collapsing from exhaustion either."
"I'll send them in," she says.
"Don't forget your mask," he says before she can step through the hatch. He pulls a fresh mask from the pile and reaches to tie it around her face. "There we are." He presses a kiss to her forehead. "Beautiful."
She shakes her head. "Daft man."
***
Several hours later, she sits at the bedside of one of the crew. Stevens, she thinks, if she remembers rightly. He's looking up at her, his eyes bright with fever, just the slightest tinge of blue around his lips. His cheeks are a distressingly dark shade of red, and the aspirin seems to not be helping him at all. His breathing is laboured, and she holds his hand gently.
"Am I going to die, Miss?" he asks, his voice a raspy whisper.
"Of course not," she says confidently. "We're going to get you to a proper hospital very soon, and they'll set you right soon enough. You've just got to stay strong and rest until then."
"Thank you for staying with me."
"Are you hungry?"
He shakes his head weakly. "No." A coughing spell overtakes him, and she reaches for the cloth and wipes his face. "Thank you."
She turns at the sound of the hatch opening, and sees the Doctor step through. "There you are," he says quietly.
"Mr Stevens here was telling me about his family," Donna says. "His parents are in Derbyshire, and one of his brothers is at the front."
"Is that so," the Doctor replies, pulling up the other small chair in the room and sitting next to Donna. "you must be very proud."
"Yes sir," Stevens says.
"What does your mum do for you when you're ill?" Donna asks gently. He looks so young, hardly old enough to be in the navy.
"She'd make soup, and read to me."
"That sounds nice," Donna replies. "Perhaps later I can come back and read to you, would you like that?"
"Yes miss, that would be terrific, if it's no bother."
"No trouble at all, I'll be back later, alright?" She pats his hand and places it back on top of the blankets covering him, before standing. The Doctor stands with her, following her out into the corridor.
"You promised to rest," he says once the hatch door is closed.
"Did I?" she says absently, her mind still on young Stevens, so ill and missing his mother.
"You did, and now you're coming with me to eat some dinner and then sleep." She opens her mouth to argue, but it turns into a yawn. "See, no arguing." He loops her arm through his as they walk back to the galley.
***
Donna obediently eats the soup and bread the Doctor sets in front of her. He sits across from her, eating bread and jam as he watches her eat.
"When we first arrived, you said there was more than one ship called the City of Exeter. Which one were you hoping it was?"
He chuckles and pushes his plate away from him. "Well, hoping is probably not quite the right word. Still, I wasn't expecting this."
"What were you expecting then?"
"My first guess was about 3 years ago, relative time, when this ship heard the distress call of the Lusitania."
She gasps. "They saw it sink?"
"I believe so, yes."
"Oh. And I joked about the Titanic." She takes a few more bites, still not really tasting the food. "I'm not sure this is better."
"Nor am I," he replies wryly.
"Would you really have left?"
He presses his hands to the table, then nods. "Yes. It's too dangerous. I still think we should go."
"You can't protect me all the time."
"Perhaps not, but I can try. We aren't changing the timeline by being here."
"Maybe we are. Maybe Mr Stevens in there will have an easier time of it, whatever happens to him."
He looks at her for a long moment, and she feels herself flush under his gaze. She looks down at her soup, rapidly cooling in the bowl. "You might be right," he says finally, standing and clearing the dishes from the table. "Now, let's get you some sleep."
"I think I'm too tired to sleep," she says as she lets him lead her to one of the empty cabins, one with a proper bed in it.
"Nonsense," he says gently, guiding her to sit on the edge of the bed and kneeling in front of her to slip off her shoes. She shrugs out of her cardigan and stretches out on the cot as he lifts her legs onto the bed.
She sighs and closes her eyes, then opens them again. "Stay with me?" she says, reaching for his hand.
His fingers close over hers, and he nods. "Of course."
She slides over to make room for him to stretch out beside her, and he wraps his arms around her, letting her nestle against him. She sighs as she lets herself relax.
"Thank you. For staying."
He doesn't answer, just draws her closer against him as she drifts to sleep.
***
Two days later she's standing over the sink in the galley, washing what feels like the millionth bowl, when he finds her. She knows before he speaks that he has bad news for her, and she refuses to turn around.
"Donna."
She doesn't answer, just rinses the bowl and sets it on the sideboard to drain. She hears him approach and feels his hands on her shoulders.
"Donna," he says again softly, and his voice is so sad that tears start in her eyes before she turns around. She dries her hands on the towel and turns in his embrace.
"Who is it this time?" she asks, her voice sounding foreign, distant.
"Stevens," he says, and his voice breaks a little.
"No," she whispers, and before she can stop herself she sobbing, her face against his chest.
"I'm sorry, I'm so sorry," he whispers into her hair, and she can hear his grief even through her own.
He holds her for a long moment, until she can get herself under control. She finally straightens, swiping the tears from her eyes. "What are we supposed to do? We don't have enough of anything – aspirin, blankets, masks, nothing. I'm not even a nurse!" her voice breaks, and she takes a deep breath.
"We're doing the best we can, better than that even. There are still some boys alive, who will make it to the hospital when we dock tomorrow." He rubs her arms soothingly, but she shrugs him off.
"No, we should do more. There must be something—"
"Donna."
She pounds her hands against the sink in frustration. "Why? I don't understand!"
"No one does," he says, and this time she allows him to put his arms around her again. She leans against him for another moment, then straightens again.
"I should finish these dishes," she says, turning back to the sink tiredly.
"Let me. Why don't you sit down and eat something, before the next round of aspirin doses."
"I'm not hungry," she says, and she isn't. She's too tired to eat, too tired to think. But she does sit, and lets him put some bread and tea in front of her. "We are helping, aren't we?" she says finally, looking up at him. Tears prickle in her eyes again.
"Donna, you have done so much. They'll never forget you, I promise you that."
***
She watches as they load the last of the crew into the ambulances that were awaiting them at the dock, the drivers masked and silent as they took the men away to hospital.
"We should go with them," she says, turning to the Doctor.
"No, they'll be fine in hospital. One of the best doctors will be waiting for them, and they'll get the best care. We can go now."
She turns again and watches the last ambulance leave. She feels dizzy and hot, and her chest is tight. How strange, she thinks, as the world begins to spin around her. "Doctor—" she manages, reaching blindly for him. She feels his hands on her as she collapses to the ground and everything goes dark.