Mister Tyler needs a Doctor- RL
On his bed, Sam Tyler shivered; he felt like he was burning up with fever, but the sweat that dotted his forehead and stained the collar of his vest was cold and clammy. He hiked the blanket up further around his shoulders, hunching over the incongruous silver laptop that sat before him. Typing was an effort, with the way his fingers shook, and the screen was almost too bright for his eyes, but it was better than the hallucinations and fever-dreams he knew awaited him if he laid back and tried to sleep. He shook his head, scrubbing a hand over his eyes, and glared balefully at the television. River, the Doctor, Simon, the man who called himself Mr. Green, they all flickered past with a click of changing channels, and Sam exhaled shakily, angrily.
He wasn't supposed to be seeing this. These things- real, happening things universes away, and suddenly Sam could see them. It was so, so wrong. And it was their fault; all their fault.
'Come on,' he muttered, rocking a little in place. The Doctor had said he might be able to help, that he'd come. But he wasn't here and he wasn't here and he wasn't here. It could only have been a few minutes, but each second stretched like molasses, and it felt like forever. Compulsively, he clutched at his right arm, raising a clenched fist to his mouth. The muscles spasmed under the skin, catching in place, growing stiff and immovable. He growled, and punched the wall.
'Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck come on. Doctor, please.'
He massaged his bruised knuckles, staring at the television set. No Doctor there now, though, just early morning static.
He wasn't supposed to be seeing this. These things- real, happening things universes away, and suddenly Sam could see them. It was so, so wrong. And it was their fault; all their fault.
'Come on,' he muttered, rocking a little in place. The Doctor had said he might be able to help, that he'd come. But he wasn't here and he wasn't here and he wasn't here. It could only have been a few minutes, but each second stretched like molasses, and it felt like forever. Compulsively, he clutched at his right arm, raising a clenched fist to his mouth. The muscles spasmed under the skin, catching in place, growing stiff and immovable. He growled, and punched the wall.
'Fuck! Fuckfuckfuckfuck come on. Doctor, please.'
He massaged his bruised knuckles, staring at the television set. No Doctor there now, though, just early morning static.