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

Comments

[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.

[aces_are_rare]

"I was... I was thinking the same thing," Ace admitted as she held the damp cloth to his forehead. Even as she worried she couldn't help feeling a small shiver of excitement. It hadn't been a one off, that kiss, that night. Even as she had been trying to find the words to ask him for a romantic - even in her own thoughts she stumbled over the word - night, a date (oh, that was even harder to say) he had been wanting it too.

"When you feel better," because he would feel better, he would. "We'll have an evening, just the two of us. Maybe a picnic in the gallery, surrounded by all those picture's you've collected; something there must suit this Neruda bloke's poems, yeah? We'll have tea, and those scones you like, and we'll..."

She was rambling, and she pressed her lips together to stop herself. Making plans for the future didn't mean they would happen, something she knew too well. She would focus on what she could do now.

"I brought some water; should make your mouth feel less parched." She helped him take a sip from the glass she had found in the loo; only the Professor would have a delicate blue crystal cup where most people had paper or plastic. When she had gotten him to take as much as he would - though not enough to make her happy - she set it on the table next to the bed. There was a book there. Not the Pablo Neruda he had mentioned but T.S. Eliot, the same volume he had read from at the beach. The fact that he kept it next to his bed was enough t get a small smile from her.

"I can't do anything about the rest, but we can still have a bit of poetry." Ace reached for his hand and opened the book to a random page. Perhaps this, too, would soothe him. "Time present and time past // Are both perhaps present in time future, // And time future contained in time past. // If all time is eternally present // All time is unredeemable."

[timewill_tell]

It touched him deeply, her recitation of poetry. He closed his eyes while she read, faint, pleasant images filling his mind. For some reason, the image of them dancing together flew through him, and he chided himself for such a fanciful thought; Ace wouldn't...dance with him, would she? Beautiful music was playing...a soft, slow jazz song, and her head was tucked against his shoulder...

His eyes opened quickly when the poem was through, and he smiled up at her.

"That was lovely. Your voice is a warm blanket on my hearts," he noted. He was capable of being quite romantic, and there was simply no other way to describe the effect her voice had on him, especially now. "I'm sorry I've taken ill, Ace, that you should...have to see me this way...take care of me. I'm feeling very tired...just now...why don't you go to your room and rest? I'll be fine...for a few hours..."

He stroked her hand as he said the words.

[aces_are_rare]

"Don't be stupid, Professor." Ace closed the book, returning it to the table. Not the happiest of poems, but it suited him and he seemed to rest a little easier when she read. "Were you sorry you had to take care of me on the beach last week, or that week after Colony 34? Did you resent having to spend time with me after I was shot? It didn't seem like it, so why would you expect any different from me? It's what we do."

As for the suggestion that she go to her own room, she wasn't going to take that seriously at all. She wouldn't deny she was tired - it had been a long time since this morning and a day filled with war and digging and partying and terror - but she wouldn't be able to sleep a wink away from worry.

"You go ahead and let yourself have a kip. Best thing for you, my gran would say. Sleep and cod liver oil were her first suggestions when someone was sick. And sweet tea, with lemon." Maybe she'd nip out to the kitchen for a minute - tea sounded like a good idea. Or tea for him and coffee of the industrial strength sort for her. "I'll be right here when you wake up."

[timewill_tell]

She made quite a few very good points, as she often did. Whenever she'd been hurt, or otherwise disabled in some way, he was more than happy to look after her. Ace was so often independent that by allowing to look after her, it made him feel good, that she would trust him to let him see her vulnerable.

"Tea would be lovely. A bit later," he smiled tiredly, removing the cloth from his forehead; it was dry now. The Doctor turned slightly onto his shoulder, trying to make himself more comfortable. The fever hadn't abated, but the cloth had helped somewhat. He certainly wouldn't admit it, but it was nice to know she would be here. Perhaps it was that part of him that worried about how things would progress with this illness. And though he'd died before, and could regenerate, it wasn't something he particularly enjoyed. He also worried...if he regenerated, would Ace stay? And then there was the issue of regenerating at all. He'd worried about the same thing in his Fifth life, when he wondered if he would regenerate into his Sixth. All these thoughts, and more, followed him into sleep. He certainly didn't have to be told more than once to rest, however, as he felt exhausted. His eyes slid closed, his thoughts troubled, his body worsening with infection.

[aces_are_rare]

The chair next to the bed was large and overstuffed with a high back and a pair of matching pillows. When Ace was sure he was asleep she moved carefully off the bed and onto the chair, not wanting to risk interrupting his sleep at all. He needed to sleep, to turn off his mind and give his body the chance to fight off the toxin.

She was tempted to slip away, run back to the village and find out something, anything, about this toxin. Had the TARDIS really said there was nothing they could do to fight it? That didn't seem right, or fair. Surely someone knew where it came from, how to fight it. She should go.

She had to stay. The TARDIS, though sometimes mischievous, would never do anything to hurt the Professor. If there was a solution to be found she would have communicated it somehow. Ace leaned back heavily into the chair and let her eyes fall closed. Just at the edge of sleep she jerked awake, her eyes wide and focused on the Professor until she saw his chest rise and fall, proof that he was still breathing. Twice more she forced herself awake before she couldn't fight any more. She fell into a fitful slumber.

[timewill_tell]

He was dreaming again, but it was unpleasant; his mind was pulling at the edges of all his worst memories and fears, bringing them to the forefront so they could be lived, made to seem real. It started easily enough, the dream; they were dancing again.

Standing on a cobblestone balcony, overlooking an ocean, their arms were threaded loosely around each other's waist, their hands linked. Ace's hair seemed soft as her head rested on his shoulder, just near his cheek. He nuzzled there, inhaling her scent, enjoying the feel of her in his arms.

Suddenly, he felt something sticky on his hands. Pulling them away from her, he could see, in the light of the rising moon, that there was blood coating his fingers. Ace's blood. Ace! She fell away from his arms, shot. And they were coming for her--Daleks, Cybermen, the Master, Kurtz, Jaeger. And then, she was being swallowed up by the sea. He tried desperately to hold onto her. Why couldn't he hold her? Keep her? He couldn't lose her, he simply couldn't. He had reached a point in his life now where it was unthinkable, to function without her. He ran, watching her being pulled from him, dying.

Ace...

The TARDIS, ever in tune with the Doctor, sensed his already rapid pulse increasing, his mind crying out within her. She couldn't touch Ace in the same way that she could touch and soothe the Doctor, within his mind, but she could do something to alert the sleeping girl. The Doctor's fever was spiking higher, his body now shivering violently, and the TARDIS worried, flashing the lights in the bedroom in an attempt to wake Ace up.

Just as the lights flickered, the Doctor began to moan Ace's name, almost crying for her.

"Ace..."