Chapter 12: The Doctor's Doctor
Hours later, the steady beeping of the monitor stirred Clara to wakefulness. She raised her head groggily. It must be evening by now.
She scanned her eyes over the Doctor, examining him carefully. Some color had returned to his face. She felt his forehead with the back of her hand. His skin was sweaty but no longer hot. She sighed in relief. He had broken his fever. The antibiotics were working.
Clara glanced at the doorway and startled. Missy leaned against the frame silently, just watching them. She looked exhausted. Her makeup was faded. Dark bags had formed under her eyes. Had she not slept this entire time? She cocked her head at Clara's movements and caught her gaze.
"Clara, I have something you should see."
Reluctant to leave the Doctor's side, Clara checked his vitals first. His blood pressure had come up to an acceptable level and his pulse was acceptable, for him anyway. She dialed up the volume of the monitor alarms as a precaution.
Satisfied, she gave the Doctor a small kiss on the forehead and stroked his cheek with her thumb. This whole experience had made her realize how much she loved him. Now that he was back, she would never take it for granted again.
Wordlessly, she followed Missy out into the hall.
The Time Lady led her to the desk in the console room. The Tardis warbled quietly in greeting. Steam hissed up from the floor vents. Little lights blinked on the console. The telepathic matrix glowed in pulses. The ship was practically purring. Her Doctor was home.
Stacks of paper bills and copper coins adorned the antique wooden desk. A calculator rested on top of a piece of paper with scrawled writing. Missy sat back down at the desk. She licked her finger and picked up a stack of bills. She fanned them out like a deck of cards. "This is all the money we've made so far."
Clara raised her eyebrows. She hadn't realized it was so much. She knit them together in confusion. "Missy, I thought you went to go look at the evidence again. Did you find anything new?"
Missy folded the bills and snapped a band around them. "No," she sighed grouchily, "so I decided to make myself useful elsewhere."
She waved the bundle of money under Clara's nose. "We need to hire some help of course, now that you are occupied at all times, but even with that, I believe that we only need to keep this gig up for another two weeks." She shrugged. "If my calculations are correct, anyway."
"I looked up prices for a crystal that would be compatible and we're looking at about $30,000 worth in Kapponian currency."
Clara folded her arms in thought. "Couldn't we just, you know, use the murder crystal?"
Missy huffed. "Well, first off, that's evidence, and secondly," she chuckled wryly, "I already tried. It's not the right configuration."
Clara nodded, chewing the inside of her cheek pensively. "Missy, have you slept?"
"Sleep?" She met her gaze. The dull glint in her watery blue eyes betrayed how tired she really was. "Time Ladies don't sleep."
Except that she technically was not a Time Lady anymore. She had become as human as Clara was. Sometimes, she seemed to forget that fact. She was not used to human limitations.
Clara felt the beginnings of a knowing smile tug at her lips. She knew Missy couldn't bear to sleep while the Doctor was in this condition. What if he woke up? What if he took a turn for the worse? Perhaps Missy did have a sliver of warmth in that icy heart of hers.
She rested a hand on her frilled purple shoulder. Missy flinched at the touch but was too tired to bat her away. She would not admit it, but her vision had started to double with exhaustion.
"Get some sleep, Missy," Clara whispered, her voice full of understanding. "I'll let you know immediately if anything changes."
Her stubborn nature wanted to refuse, but her body was screaming at her. Her manicured hands trembled with the amount of caffeine in her system. Usually immaculate hair hung down her face in strings. Her single heart raced even though she was sitting perfectly still. If she didn't slow down soon, she would end up on a hospital bed too.
Finally, Missy relented.
"Alright, dear, you win," she sighed, defeated. She stood up from the desk gingerly, sore from sitting there so long. "But," she crooked a sharp finger under Clara's chin, sternly lifting her face to meet her eyes, "you tell me the second anything changes, or else."
Clara swallowed hard, not dismissing the very real threat. She nodded quickly. With that, Missy straightened her back and walked off to her room, her strides a little less graceful than usual.
The next few days passed with Clara watching over the Doctor and Missy running the Diner. Clara had put a "Help Wanted" ad in the window and hired a young Kapponian lady named Alycana to help wait tables. The stacks of money on the desk grew taller every day. Just another week or two and maybe they'd be able to afford a replacement crystal, Clara reassured herself. Then they could leave this hellish planet.
Clara sat by the Doctor's side vigilantly. Other than basic care like changing bandages and refreshing his IV bags, she could do nothing but monitor his condition. The jaundice had faded from his skin, a good sign that his liver was recovering. The swelling in his legs steadily receded with every passing day, and Clara knew that his hearts were getting more efficient at pumping out the excess fluid. His vitals ticked up by the hour. The healing coma was working.
But he would not wake up.
Clara sighed, resting her head against the mattress. Her phone had long since died. Boredom gnawed at her sanity. She felt so helpless and useless. She watched him for a sign, anything. He did nothing but breathe steadily. She watched his chest rise and fall rhythmically as if on a timer. The monitors beeped with every pulse of his double heartbeat like a metronome. He had not had an arrhythmia since the first day. His fever had not returned either. By all accounts, he should be waking up.
The Tardis rotors spun quietly from outside the sickbay. Clara could tell that the old ship was worried too. Had the damage been too great? Would he ever wake up?
She squeezed his hand, feeling its warmth. She had never noticed how soft they were, despite their gangly appearance. Bringing it up to her mouth, she kissed it on the knuckles, more for her own comfort than anything. He had to wake up. She could not lose him again. It would break her.
She scanned over him again, trying to see if she had missed anything. He hadn't had a proper clean since his first day back. His hair was beginning to look greasy and he was starting to smell a little ripe. Clara smiled ruefully. Finally, something she could do.
She stood up creakily. Her bones were stiff from sitting in that chair for hours. She cracked her back and neck with a pop and stretched her legs. Sorely, she walked to the sink at the far side of the room. Selecting a bowl, she filled it up cwith warm water. Steam wafted gently through the air. Making sure it was not too hot, she tested it with her finger. It was just right. Retrieving washcloths and soap from the cabinet, she strode back to the bed.
She set the bowl down on the night table. Carefully, she picked up one of his arms. The swelling had gone down nicely but they were still inflamed. She unwrapped the gauze bandages and inspected her handiwork. The staple job was not pretty but it was functional. He would carry those battlescars for the rest of his life. Or the rest of this regeneration's, anyway.
She wondered what the story behind them was. Judging by his appearance when he first crawled in, he had been surviving alone in the wilderness for more than a week while terribly sick. She cringed thinking about it. Her heart sank when she looked at his blistered feet and sunburnt shoulders. The skin had started to peel, revealing raw red flesh underneath. What happened to him? What had he eaten? How did he avoid discovery?
Clara couldn't help but feel a pang of maternal instinct. She was delivering him nutrition through the IV, but she couldn't wait to give him his first proper meal. He was so skinny already, and now even thinner. She couldn't stand people starving.
Wringing out a soapy washcloth, she carefully dabbed at the scabs encrusting his scars. She needed to keep the wounds as clean as possible lest they get reinfected. Despite the injuries, his arms still felt strong. She could feel the wiry muscles and taut sinew beneath the skin. He hated hugging, but on the rare occasion that he indulged her, she loved the feeling of those arms around her.
With a faint smile, she continued. All the things she wanted to say to him. Things she thought she would never get to tell him. The universe had granted her a second chance. Even if he never woke up, she would still tell him in hopes he could still hear her somehow.
"Daft old idiot," she whispered, stroking his cheek. A tear trickled down her face. It was killing her to see him like this. The mighty Doctor reduced to nothing more than this…husk.
Hastily, she wiped away the tear and sniffled. She had work to do.
Dipping the cloth in the soapy water again, she cleaned his other forearm gingerly. She was careful to not pass the rag directly over the scars lest the staples get caught in the fibers. Finished, she cleaned up the rest of his arms. Green bruises and pink bites peppered his skin. She winced. As selfish as she was with wanting him to wake up, she was glad he could not feel anything.
She soaped up to his collarbones and then to his neck. She massaged the suds into his tense muscles. They were still so tight, full of knots. She worked on them with her fingers, pressing and kneading them away one by one. Something about this was soothing to her. As helpless as she felt, she liked having control over one thing.
When his shoulders finally began to feel more pliable, she moved on to his face. Softly, she dabbed the cloth over his skin, gently scrubbing away the oil that had built up. Taking care to not get soap in his eyes, she wiped his forehead. With a dry rag, she mopped up the soapy water. His pale face flushed pink with the stimulation. She choked back a sob. He had never looked more alive to her, even if it was fleeting.
Lifting his head, she removed the pillow he laid on. She didn't want it to get wet. Forgoing the rag, she soaped up her hands and went to work on his hair. She couldn't help a groan. The long curls were so soft, like the fur of a cat. She felt bashful, touching him like this. If he were awake he would never let her do this. She shook the thought from her head. She was just helping him get clean, that's all.
She dug her fingertips into his scalp, dislodging all the dirt and sweat. She ran her fingers through the strands, gray darkening to black with the water. The curls cascaded over each other like the waves of a stormy sea. They bounced like springs at her touch, refusing to flatten even while damp. She would never understand how he got so much volume in his hair. Whatever product he was using, she wanted it too.
With a wet rag, she rinsed the soap out. Its sporty fragrance filled the room with its scent. She laid his head back down on a dry white towel, almost sorry that it was over. She needed to find a way to convince him to let her touch his hair again. Already drying, the curls fluffed up. It was tempting to run her hands through them again, but she still had the rest of his body to clean.
Reluctantly, she dipped the cloth again and resumed her work. She unfastened the buttons of his hospital gown and folded it down to his waist, exposing his chest. His ribs stuck out from his sides like a xylophone. Goosebumps raised along his skin. Realizing he was cold, she got up and retrieved another blanket from the cabinet. She laid it over his hips, tucking it in over his legs.
"Sorry, I'll make it quick," she reassured his still form.
Efficiently, she washed and dried his torso. She turned him onto his side and washed his back too. Once dry, she laid him back down and brought the blanket back up to his neck. She uncovered his legs and scrubbed each one up and down. Taking special care of his injured feet, she gently cleaned out the cuts and blisters. Some of the gashes were quite deep, but did not require sutures. They had scabbed over on their own. They looked pink and healthy with no signs of infection. For that, she was grateful.
Finally, she had reached the stage she had been avoiding. All of him needed cleaning, not just the parts she wanted to clean. Blushing furiously, she gripped the hem of the blankets, hesitating. She respected him too much to look where he wouldn't want her to. She had cleaned him on day one, but was so caught up in adrenaline that she hadn't noticed.
She needed to put her feelings aside and be professional. He needed her and she definitely was not about to ask Missy to do it. Determined, she compromised with herself. She would keep her eyes shut and only operate by feel.
Taking a deep breath, she pulled back the blankets. She brought the soapy rag around and wiped blindly. A blush stung her cheeks with heat. 'Don't think about it, Clara. Don't think about it.'
Mercifully, it was over quickly. She dried him off with a towel. Selecting a fresh gown from the cabinet drawer, she covered him back up. She snapped the buttons of the gown until it was secure and then changed the sheets and blankets. Once finished, tucked him in snugly.
Finally done, she sighed in relief. Why had that been so hard? Why had it affected her this way? He was only a friend to her.
She averted her gaze and stared at the ground guiltily. 'Clearly, that's not true.'
As excellent of a liar she was, she could not convince herself.
A/N: Don't forget to review! I really appreciate it! 3
