The road less travelled...

Title: Nightmares 2/8
Author: katherine_b
Rating: PG
Characters: Donna and the Doctor (Ten)
Spoilers: All of Season 4 up to the end of Forest of the Dead
Summary: Donna has nightmares about the Doctor.

Part II

“Doctor!”

Fighting dizziness, she runs over and is about to grab his foot when she notices that it’s lying at a different angle from the way it should be.

She checks that nothing is going to fall and then heaves the jumpseat away, pushing it down the pile of broken objects so that it slides into the base of the console. The rotor drops an inch or two, but at least it remains illuminated so that Donna can see what she’s doing.

The Doctor is lying on the hard metal floor of the TARDIS, as silent and unmoving as everything else around her.

She watches him for a moment, waiting for him to react.

She’s frightened to touch him. His arm is dangling at an impossible angle and his leg, the same one with the injured ankle, has clearly made violent contact with the leg of the jumpseat because his pants have torn and there’s a piece of brown fabric dangling off the sheared-off end of a bolt that once fastened the jumpseat to the floor of the TARDIS.

But it’s his stillness that frightens Donna most.

That and his face.

He’s never had rosy cheeks, but now he’s white. Almost grey, in fact, at least in this light. So much so that the handful of freckles on his nose stand out as if they’ve been painted on. His dark lashes are lying motionless on his cheeks and his face is slack.

“Doctor?” she ventures nervously, hoping he’ll react.

She gently taps his ashen cheeks.

“Doctor!”

As she gives him a gentle shake, his head rolls limply to one side, his lips parting, and a drop of blood oozes out of his mouth. It slides down his cheek and drips onto the floor of the TARDIS, disappearing into the grating.

Almost as if the ship is responding, the lights go on and Donna blinks in the sudden brightness. It shakes her out of her numbness and she leans over the Doctor, placing her hands on either side of his chest and sighing with relief when she realises that both of his hearts are beating.

Now that she’s focusing, random pieces of information from a first aid course she took years ago are starting to trickle back.

She leans her ear down to his face and feels his chest to make sure he’s breathing. The breaths are somewhat ragged and uneven, but at least he’s taking in air.

“Doctor,” she says, pushing away emotion and trying to think logically, “I’m going to need to get you into the medical bay, so I’m going to leave you for a moment, but I’ll be back as soon as I can.”

She removes her jacket and drapes it over his chest before getting to her feet and heading for the doorway down to the lower rooms of the TARDIS.

The first door on the right usually leads into the medical bay and she hopes that the ship isn’t indulging in her usual tricks of moving the rooms around. Just before opening the door, she inhales deeply, trying to think what she needs.

“A way to get him in here, for starters,” she tells herself, her hand pressed flat against the closed door. “And then we’ll have to play it by ear.”

She knows the TARDIS has picked up on what’s happened when she opens the door of the medical bay to find a wheeled trolley taking up the space where the second bed usually lies.

“Thank you,” she murmurs to the ship, pushing it out of the room, along the hallway and into the console room.

The Doctor is lying where she left him and has showed no sign of moving. She stops the trolley beside him and lowers it almost flat to the floor.

Sliding her arm behind the Doctor’s neck, she lifts him ever so slightly and eases her jacket underneath so that she can use it as a sort of sling to move him without causing too much pain to his shoulder. It takes several minutes of work – he’s heavier than he looks! – and she’s breathless by the end, but finally his upper body is lying on the trolley. With care for his leg injuries, she arranges him properly on the portable bed and then steps back to catch her breath.

The Doctor still hasn’t moved by the time she recovers enough to push the trolley into the medical bay. Donna’s pleased that she won’t have caused him any more pain and it’s easy to move him onto the bed in the sterile, white room. She sets the trolley at the same height as the bed and then drags the thin mattress with the Doctor still lying on it onto the more comfortable bed.

She pushes the trolley out into the hallway to give herself more space and then returns to the Doctor’s side.

“So now what?” she asks herself, before a movement from the other side of the room catches her eye.

A cupboard door has slowly swung open. A large plastic box is standing in lonely grandeur in the otherwise empty cupboard and Donna is certain that the TARDIS is helping out as much as it can. Crossing the room, she peers into the box, finding that it contains bandages, a splint and several small medicine bottles.

Even as she looks through these items, a screen beside the bed flickers into life and Donna turns to find that she’s looking up at x-ray images of what she assumes are the Doctor’s injuries.

The dislocations of his shoulder and ankle are obvious, but she has to come quite close to the images before she sees the break in the larger bone of the shin on his left leg. Other pictures flash up in quick succession of his right side, but she can’t see any injuries, and, as they disappear almost at once, she can only assume that her assessment is correct.

And then there’s the tiniest movement from the man on the bed.

“Doctor?” she asks, moving quickly to his side. “Doctor, can you hear me?”

His lashes flutter for a moment before his eyes open and he stares at the ceiling for a moment before blinking. His gaze travels around before coming to rest on Donna, a look of mild confusion in his eyes.

“It’s all right,” she says soothingly, resting her hand on his chest as much to keep him from moving as anything else. “There was an accident and you’re a bit knocked about, but you’ll be fine.”

He doesn’t appear to have heard her, his eyes sliding away from her face to look around at other parts of the room in apparent surprise. It’s only when he tries to move his left arm that pain crosses his face and he bites his lower lip.

Donna knows she can’t treat his injuries while he’s awake and she thinks hard about what to do. Something in her mind draws her back to the box in that cupboard. This same silent voice tells her to pick up one of the bottles of medicine and, although the name tells her nothing, she reads the directions on the label and fishes a medicine cup out of the box, pouring a small dose in accordance with the instructions.

Crossing back to the bed, she finds that the Doctor is still staring blankly, seemingly unable to fix his gaze on anything. She touches his right hand and he drags his eyes to her face, but she thinks it’s an effort for him.

“I need you to drink this,” she says quietly, holding up the small plastic cup.

The Doctor doesn’t react as she slides her hand beneath his head and lifts it, holding the glass to his lips at the same moment. His mouth opens slightly so that she can pour the brightly coloured fluid down his throat. His eyes are fixed on her, but there’s a dazed look in them and she wonders if he’s actually noticed that she’s there. She watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows the dose and, once it’s finished, she puts the empty cup down, laying his head gently back against the flat pillow.

He moves the broken leg and whimpers softly at the pain, the fingers of his right hand opening and closing as if reaching for some form of comfort.

“Just keep still,” she urges, sliding her fingers into his and smoothing his hair with her other hand. “It won’t hurt for much longer. You’ll be asleep soon.”

She doesn’t know how she knows that that’s what the medicine will do to him. She’s just certain that it will.

He nods vaguely, his gaze wandering up to the ceiling once more, although his fingers tighten around hers. She wishes there was some way to know if he understood what she was saying.

She glances at the scans on the wall, but looks back to find him watching her. His grip on her fingers tightens as she meets his gaze, something like recognition glowing in them, and his mouth opens.

Don’t leave me.

It’s a soundless whisper, but she understands because she can see fear in his eyes, like a small child afraid of the dark.

“I promise,” she says gently, stroking his cheek with the back of her fingers. “I’m not going anywhere.”

He gives a small nod as if satisfied, but his eyes don’t leave her face. She waits for the medication to kick in, listening to the seconds ticking away on her watch. She can tell that it’s beginning to work when she notices him blinking more often.

The tension of the hand in hers is slacking.

His tongue eases out to moisten his lips and he swallows, shaking his head from side to side, as if trying to clear his mind.

She places a gentle hand on his cheek, stilling the motion, afraid in case it damages his shoulder.

“It’s all right, Doctor,” she says soothingly, leaning closer so that he can both see and hear her.

She guesses his vision is getting a bit blurry from the way he’s frowning at her.

“This is going to take the pain away so that you can sleep,” she assures him.

He murmurs something incomprehensible, but his lips don’t work well enough to form words she can understand. She leans closer, lowering the hand entwined with his so that it’s resting gently on his chest, which she can feel rising and falling.

“Doctor, listen to me,” she says, focusing his attention on her. “I want you to breathe with me. Let’s try it. Breathing in as deep as you can.”

She inhales and watches as he does the same.

“And out, nice and slow,” she says, seeing a somewhat drowsy look in his dark eyes as he obeys.

“Big, deep breath in,” she tells him, her voice quietening, brushing her thumb along his cheekbone.

He gives her a sleepy smile as they breathe out together. His lashes are fluttering now and she can see that he’s struggling to keep looking at her. His fingers convulsively clutch at hers every so often as he fights the sedative.

“It’s okay,” she tells him reassuringly. “I’m not going anywhere, I promise. Just relax, Doctor. No need to stay awake. I’ll look after you, and you’ll feel better when you wake up again.”

He gives a jerky nod, and then his head waggles around as if he’s lost the ability to control the muscles in his neck. In spite of her anxiety, she can’t help chuckling, and brushes her thumb across his right eyelid. His eye remains closed when she lifts her finger off and he looks as if he’s giving her a drowsy wink. She repeats the process on the other eye and hears him sigh as if he’s relieved not to have to try and look around. Every muscle in his body finally goes limp and she knows he’s unconscious.

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