Hand in the Dark [RP for aces_are_rare]

[timewill_tell]

It was nearing dusk as the Doctor and and Ace walked away from the small village, home to the Trelek people. It was a small planet, harboring only that small village, and a diverse variety of flora and fauna, but as planets went, it was one of the more unremarkable ones the Doctor had encountered. In fact, he was certain he'd never even been there

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[aces_are_rare]

Water. Of all the naff things to fight about that had to be on the top of the list, especially when the solution was so simple. Funny, how ending a war had evolved into lessons on well digging and irrigation. Still, they had ended the war, and before anyone had been killed too. The Trelekans threw a hell of a party, which had been fun after that annoying bit with the speech and the crown of leaves.

As fun as it was, though, she was relieved when it was just her and the Professor again. Ever since their 'holiday' and everything that had come of it she felt anxious when they were with other people and looked forward to the times when it was just the two of them again. Not that they did anything different from before, not really. They hadn't even kissed again since that night, as if they'd made some silent mutual decision to move slowly. But when they talked and touched there seemed to be a whole other level to their interaction, an understanding that even if they were moving slowly they were heading towards something new. Something together.

When the TARDIS came into view over the crest of a hill Ace smiled and glanced over at the Professor. Her smile quickly fell away. Lost in her own thoughts she hadn't noticed her companions sluggishness or his cheek, now a bright red.

"Professor?" She reached out, her hand pressed against his forehead. His temperature was completely normal - for a human. He was burning up.

[timewill_tell]

He hadn't realized just how hot he felt until Ace's hand went to his forehead. The coolness of her body was such a divergence from the warmth he'd come to associate with her human body. He couldn't deny, now, that something was wrong, but he felt completely at a loss as to what that could be. Still, the Doctor took her hand gently, removing it from his forehead. He didn't let go, though. He liked holding her hand more now than he ever had before, and did so as often as possible. But as they walked, he felt himself becoming more unsteady, and holding onto her hand helped him maintain his balance for the moment. He always missed his TARDIS when they left her, but seeing her now wasn't just pleasing to him, it was almost a relief. At least there, he could be amongst his things, perhaps figure out what was wrong with him. If he could, that is. At this rate, he felt it was entirely possible he'd just as soon curl into a bed and try to sleep this off.

"I'm fine, Ace," the Doctor finally murmured, smiling faintly to try and reassure her.

He hoped he was. He really had no idea. As they walked, his mind tried to go back over this trip. Had he been exposed to anything? Drank anything? His thoughts were a bit muddled, and he couldn't recall anything out of the ordinary at the moment.

"Not to worry, we're almost home. Safe and sound and together," the Doctor added, pulling her a bit closer.

[aces_are_rare]

"You're not fine." He was letting himself lean against her. Not an affectionate arm around her shoulder but a awkward need for support, and that worried her. It wasn't just a case of being a little warm; something was wrong. She was relieved when they reached the TARDIS door.

"Hang on." She fumbled for the key that hung on a chain around her neck, working one handed so she didn't have to let go of him. She'd barely touched the key to the lock when the door swung open. Silently she thanked the ship.

Just inside the door she turned and took the Professor's hat and brolly, not bothering to hang them up but just tossing them in the general direction of the hat rack. She ran the back of her fingers along his cheeks; they seemed warmer then even a few minutes ago. His eyes were unfocused, clouded. "Gordon Bennett."

[timewill_tell]

The Doctor swallowed heavily for a moment. It disconcerted him, this feeling that he couldn't seem to hold onto a thought longer than a moment or two. His mind was frenzied, disconnected. He put one hand against a wall of the TARDIS, trying to keep himself from swaying. He was dizzy and lightheaded. There was no hiding it from Ace at this point; he could see it in her eyes, the worry that he wanted so desperately to keep from being there. While he still could, he was determined to be strong, to guide her as best he could.

"Ace," he started, his voice lower than normal as he tried to focus on her face, "I feel I'm in desperate need of a bed. I can't remain standing much longer. My room..." He hadn't showed her his room yet. He was so frustrated; after this trip, he'd wanted to...well, a 'date' didn't sound quite right in his head. But he'd wanted to spend some time with Ace, more intimately. He'd wanted to kiss her again, as it felt like so much time had passed since they'd done so. He resented this malady which had overcome him, preventing all of that. But he continued, swallowing heavily again, "My room shouldn't be far..."

He couldn't quite remember where it was, but the TARDIS was pulsing beneath his hand, humming worriedly in his mind. She could sense something was wrong with him as well, and it was likely she'd move the rooms so they wouldn't have to walk far.

[aces_are_rare]

"So you do have a room. I wondered sometimes." More often this week, but even in this state she wasn't about to say that. Instead she dropped her bag next to the TARDIS console and threaded her arm around his waist.

"Lean on me, yeah. I'll get you there." Slowly they made their way across the room and into the hall. Ace hoped he was right about his room not being too far. The sooner she could stop worrying about supporting his weight the sooner she could start figuring out what was wrong. Or so she hoped.

"A little help?" she murmured, sparing a glance to ceiling. A dozen metres down the hall a door swung open. Ace sighed gratefully. "Thanks."

[timewill_tell]

He loathed having to rely on her for something as simple as walking. Really, it wasn't as though he was disabled, but he knew he was also too weak to make it on his own. Still, despite his irritation at having to be supported in this manner, he was grateful to Ace. Not just for the physical support she offered his body, but for her very presence. He wouldn't voice it aloud, but he was rapidly getting more and more ill, and it was worrying him now. Having her nearby soothed him, as it always did. Even when they disagreed about something, he loved having her nearby. Without her presence, he felt an awful void in his hearts. Growing fearful now, she was like a lighthouse, a beacon in the great storm coming to him, threatening to swallow him. Things, he feared, would get far worse before they would get better.

They made it to his room without incident, and the Doctor had never been so eager to lay on his bed.

"Ace," the Doctor kept a hold of one of her hands, trying to remain calm. "It will...it will be all right."

It was a complete lie, and he had no idea if his face betrayed him. In his weakened state, he doubt he was capable of being convincing. And he was getting worse. He kicked his shoes off and removed his coat and pullover. By the time he was down to his shirt, he'd begun to tremble.

[aces_are_rare]

"Of course it will," she agreed. She wouldn't allow anything else to be true, but the fact that he didn't believe the words himself sent a chill down her spine. He was always so sure.

When he began to tremble she brushed his hands aside, unknotting his tie for him and pulling it free from his collar before undoing the top two buttons and the ones at the cuffs. His pulse, when her fingers brushed his wrist, was too fast.

It took a bit of doing to pull down the blankets when he was lying on top of them, but she managed it, covering him with the covers pulled up to his neck. He still shook, so she added a quilt she found draped over a chair. At any other time Ace would have delighted at this admittance to the Professor's inner sanctum. She would have poked at everything, peered into every corner, and asked a million questions. Now, though, she didn't dare move away from the bed.

"You probably just caught a chill from standing in the watter too much." She wanted it to be such a simple explanation, an easy fix. Her fingers brushed against a curl that had fallen on his forehead, already damp with sweat.

[timewill_tell]

His eyes closed at her touch, relishing the feel on his skin. It was soothing, both for his fever, and for his psyche. He wasn't ready to let go of her so easily, either. If he was fearful, the great Doctor, then he knew she certainly must be as well. The least he could do was try to soothe her, as best he could, for as long as he was able to; he had no idea how much worse it would get, or how quickly that decline would happen. He thought back to hours ago, when he'd been hoping to return to the TARDIS, to...kiss again. Looking at her now, his love for her was even more apparent, but he wouldn't ponder risking her health by kissing her. So he did the only thing available to him; he pulled her hand closer, desperately wanting to kiss it, but still fearful of harming her. He had no idea if this thing was contagious, after all. Gently, he plied open her hand so that her palm rested flat against his cheek. At last, he smiled softly.

"Yes, just a chill," the Doctor spoke, though there was very little conviction in his words. "The TARDIS...the TARDIS can run a diagnostic scan on me, but she needs a sample of my blood...in order to do so."

He let go of Ace's hand, where he'd pushed it against his cheek, though it was with great reluctance. With shaking fingers, he fumbled for his sonic screwdriver, changing the settings and pressing it to his inner arm. Then he handed the device to Ace.

"Insert it into the console," he instructed, lying back wearily against the pillows. "It shouldn't take but a moment. It should...should yield some information."

[aces_are_rare]

Ace held the screwdriver in her hand tightly enough that the buttons dug into her flesh. And hope she had that this was some version of a Time Lord cold faded away. The Professor was never cautious when it came to himself. When it came to others, particularly herself, he would err towards safety, but he'd walk blindly into dangerous situations without a thought to his own well being. There was no way he'd ask for a diagnostic if he thought a few hour's rest would fix things.

She stood, paralyzed, next to the bed. His eyes were closed again, as if the simple acts of holding her hand and giving her the screwdriver had exhausted him. She was scared to let him of of her sight even for the few minutes it would take to run to the console room and back, scared of what might change just in that brief amount of time. But she had to.

"Your sonic screwdriver? You might be sorry you gave this too me. I could have fun using it to modify the timers on my nitro - you might never get it back." She waited for him to laugh, or scold, or lecture her, but his eyes remained closed and he was silent. Damn it. "Two minutes. I'll back back in two minutes. You... just be here, okay?"

She ran down the corridor as fast as she could, slamming the screwdriver into the first hole she found and hoped it was right.

[timewill_tell]

Even before Ace returned, the Doctor knew the results of the scan. Not always, but often, the TARDIS was able to communicate such things to him through their symbiotic link. He felt her in his mind, remarking on Ace and expressing worry for him. It was a toxin. He tried to figure out how he could've received it, but his mind was drawing a blank. Surely, he hadn't been poisoned. There was...he couldn't think properly. The Doctor started reprimanding himself harshly, for any error in judgment he might have made, for not being able to figure out why he was sick, but the TARDIS chided him; he couldn't know everything. But I'm supposed to, he tried to argue. Still, the TARDIS reached out to him again, petting his mind.

When Ace returned, his eyes opened and he struggled to sit up. "It's a toxin in my system. I can't...it acts like a virus, it can't...be reversed, we just have to treat...the symptoms."

One small measure of comfort was the fact that it wasn't contagious; the TARDIS had told him as much, although he also wondered why She felt the need to make that point.

The Doctor's head went back against the pillows, but he kept his eyes on Ace. He desperately wanted to make her smile, just a bit, so he tried to do so by smiling himself and saying, "The TARDIS...seems to think you ought to play nurse. I have to say, despite the circumstances, at least...I have...my girl nearby."

He almost said it shyly, though his glassy eyes shone with sincerity.

He thought about the toxin, then; it had to run its course through his system, and he had no idea how long it would take. For a split second, the thought that he might have to regenerate crossed his mind, but he buried it deep, not wanting to ponder that too long at the moment.

[aces_are_rare]

Ace found it hard to conjure up a smile, but she managed a weak one at the words 'my girl.' For a moment she allowed herself to remember the feeling of him holding her, the way he'd called her his girl just before kissing her. At the celebration tonight she had thought of this evening, wondering if she could talk him into another evening in front of the fire, another poem, and perhaps... But there was no point in thinking about that now.

"And I'll stay here, at your side, so long as you need me," she promised fiercely. Playing nurse, at least, would give her something to do. It wouldn't help with the fears running through her mind but it would let her do something with her hands and make her feel a little less helpless.

She sat on the edge of the bed, carefully, and found his hand with her own. If it was possible she would have forced all of her strength into him via the connection of their linked hands.

[timewill_tell]

He'd never expressed it verbally, but the Doctor had always been fascinated with Ace's hands. It was odd, though, that he'd never considered why, precisely. He just knew he was enchanted with them. Enchanted with all of her, but it was pleasant sometimes just to focus on one part of her body, to examine it and how it functioned with her, for her. Now that their hands were linked, he found himself devoting even more attention to considering the appendage; it wasn't precisely delicate, but there was something soft and tender about it. When he thought about what these hands did--building explosives, pulling people to safety, resting so easily and perfectly against his own--he felt a great deal of adoration.

There was nothing else to do at the moment; he was too weak to walk around, to do much of anything, so he divided his gaze between his hand and hers, his thumb stroking over her knuckles. Finally, he looked up to meet her eyes.

He wanted to tell her things now that he'd never told her, in case...in case he wouldn't have the chance to tell her again.

"I love your hands," the Doctor admitted softly. "Tendons and bones all formed perfectly together...just beneath your skin. I love them, particularly...the person they're attached to."

He squeezed her hand as tightly as he could manage. "And I like it quite a lot when you hold my hand. Don't...don't let go. Just for now. It soothes me."

He wondered, if it was so easy to say these deep things that he would've been shy in admitting before, what else would come.

[aces_are_rare]

"Obviously one of the symptoms of this toxin is being delusional." But she tightened her hold on his hand, resolved not to let go as long as the touch brought him any measure of comfort. She looked at them, twined together as they were. Her own hand was nothing special; the nails cut short, the palms covered in calluses and scar tissue from burns. It was useful, for making things, for fighting, for holding hands, but it wasn't pretty. His hands were better, capable of more.

"The first thing I remember about you is your hands. Back on Ice World, sitting at the table next to Mel, you shook my hand." He had looked at her, and smiled. Not the cold polite smile of the other customers but a warm smile. He spoke to her, Ace, not 'you girl' or 'brat' or 'waitress' or 'child.' It was funny, but at the time his cold skin was the warmest thing she'd known in months.

He wasn't cold now.

Ace moved farther onto the bed, crossing her legs and holding their linked hands in her lap. With her free hand she rubbed her fingers along the back of his hand, playing with the skin between his knuckles, tracing the veins just visible under the skin. She loved watching his hands as they played over the TARDIS console, played with his brolly, rested on her arm, touched her nose. They were never still, his hands, and that made it only more obvious how sick he was now.

"There has to be something more that I can do."

[timewill_tell]

"Oh, Ace," the Doctor breathed gently, his smile a bit melancholic, "we always think ourselves powerless or incidental in times like these...when we feel helpless, with nothing...to do."

His fever was getting worse, but he couldn't think of a quick fix. It was a result of the toxin which continued to rage through him. But he knew that if it were him, if Ace were lying here, he simply couldn't not do anything. Anything. And that thought struck him--he was so grateful that it wasn't her. Still, he moved the hand she held up to her cheek, cupping her face tenderly and stroking his thumb over her cheekbone.

"You, by your very nature, are doing more than anything else could. You, my Ace, keeping me strong and anchored and complete."

It was true; he just wasn't the same without her. They were a team, they belonged together, to each other. He kept his hand on her cheek, still stroking her skin with his thumb.

"There is something, though...I'm feeling warmer. My shirt...I need to remove it."

[aces_are_rare]

"You bet your life I'm keeping you anchored here. You're not getting rid of me that easily." She couldn't be the only thing that grounded him here, though. She was small and human and if she wasn't strong enough... but she would have to be. She wasn't about to lose him, not now. Not after they'd come so close last week and discovered so much. Not when everything she'd ever wanted was within reach.

"Let me help you," she said when he fumbled with the covers. This, at least, she could do for him. Ace pulled the blankets back and quickly undid his remaining buttons, trying hard not to think about what she was doing; trying even harder not to think about what she wanted to be doing, if he wasn't sick. She helped him to sit up a little so she could slip the shirt from his shoulders and arms before letting him lie down again, hopefully more comfortable this time.

"I'll be right back, okay?" she told him as she hung the shirt on the chair. She didn't want him to think she was leaving, but there was a loo connected to the room and she thought a damp cloth might bring him some relief.

[timewill_tell]

Though the relief was marginal, the removal of his shirt at least allowed him to feel less stifled. The sweat on his skin had been trapped there by the fabric, and now his skin was exposed, cooling it minutely. He began to shiver again, and so pulled the covers up to his neck once more. He couldn't honestly remember the last time he'd had a fever, though he was certain it had never been as bad as this. It frustrated him that he was so warm, but then would begin to shiver if he pulled the blankets down.

When Ace returned with a damp cloth, he smiled in gratitude. At least it would help regulate his temperature a bit. As much as he could, he shifted to allow her more room on the bed.

"This wasn't..." He started, his mouth dry, voice slightly hoarse. Clearing his throat, he continued, his eyes suddenly darker, glistening with fever, "I wanted to have a nice evening tonight. I wanted...wanted to read you some poetry again. Perhaps even..."

He trailed off. He'd wanted a romantic evening, that was the truth. The Doctor, who was so afraid of committing, of admitting feelings, wanted nothing more than to deepen their relationship, to be loving, to enjoy each other not just as friends, but as lovers. He did want that, and he hoped she knew as much. His admittance last week had hopefully made that clear.

"I wanted to kiss you," he declared, his voice scarcely above a whisper, his eyes looking downward at his blanket-covered chest. "And now I've gone and gotten ill."

"Pablo Neruda," he suddenly said, as if from nowhere. "I should have liked to hear his words tonight, with you...with--with..."

He trailed off again, furrowing his brow. Whatever else he'd meant to say, he'd lost the thought. It was disconcerting.