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]

"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..."

[aces_are_rare]

Ace's sleep, light and troubled, ended abruptly with the flashing lights, moaning, and the certainty that something was wrong. She almost fell out of the chair in an effort to stand up and get the the bed. "Professor?"

He was trembling, his cheeks flaming red. When she touched his skin it almost burned; his fever was worse. Bloody hell, why had she let herself fall asleep? She should have been watching, should have seen this coming. "I'm right here, just like I said I'd be."

The cloth from earlier had fallen to the floor and she ran to the loo to wet it again, bringing back with her a bowl filled with water. She didn't remember a bowl being there before, but it was there, on the counter next to the sink, and having it at the bedside would mean leaving his side less often. She used the cloth to cool his forehead but he was so warm, it didn't seem enough. Pulling the blankets down to his waist she wiped down his chest, redipping the cloth in the water every time it began to feel warm. It seemed to help a little with the temperature but did nothing for the violent shaking.

Ace did the only thing she could think of to do. After kicking off her shoes she climbed onto the bed and stretched out behind him, wrapping her arms around him. It might have been wishful thinking but his trembling seemed to slow a little. "I'm right here," she repeated again, like a litany.

[timewill_tell]

He was closer to wakefulness now, but hardly lucid; the fever was corrupting his thoughts, distorting reality. When the Doctor's eyes opened, slowly, he noticed that the lights were slightly brighter than they had been. And there was another change...someone was holding him. Who...Ace. Ace. The dreams. Were they dreams? He couldn't remember. Everything felt real, nothing felt real. He wanted to turn, to see her, but couldn't summon the strength. Was she even there? Of course she was, those were her arms...

"Dancing...we were..."

What was the music?

"Jazz..."

And Ace was wearing...

"Sun dress..."

He could almost feel her resting against him again, swaying in time to the music. She had smelled so wonderful, like bits of Time and stars and exotic flowers. Her hair...

"Soft..."

He murmured the disconnected words, with no awareness that they would make little to no sense to someone listening to him. And then another very random memory flashed in his mind; it was as though there was no control over his thoughts now, and they were coming to the surface unrestrained.

"I misplaced it...where's my...have you try the--the berry..."

[aces_are_rare]

Ace listened to the strange collection of words, trying to figure out if they meant anything or if they were just random fragments pulled from his fevered mind. A dream, she decided, though the last muttering about a berry didn't quite fit in with the rest. Dancing, and jazz music, and... "You're picturing me in a dress?"

She needed to see if he he was awake, and how lucid. Did the berries mean anything? Was he asking for berries or berry flavoured tea or did it mean nothing at all? Rather than try to move him she scouted around him to the other side. His eyes were open, but still clouded.

"Is there something you need? Something I can get for you?" She rested the palm of her hand against his warm cheek.

[timewill_tell]

Ace was in front of him now, his mind registered. She seemed to fill his thoughts, and here she was. Had he summoned her, somehow, simply by thinking so fervently of her? No, that wasn't right, was it? She had been here all along, she'd been holding him. He frowned a bit. Why couldn't he remember anything? What was she asking him? Why would he need anything?

"You're here," he whispered, his voice almost awed, as though he hadn't seen her in a while, as though he'd missed her terribly. "Ace...they didn't...hurt you?"

He shut his eyes, drawing in a ragged, harsh breath. When he opened his eyes once more, there was a look of slight surprise on his face, as though he was seeing Ace for the first time.

"You're here," he said again, "I thought you'd...gone."

His eyes closed again; he was sleepy, still, his slumber having been interrupted. When he lifted his heavy eyelids again, however, he frowned, almost looking angry, and wrapped a weak arm around Ace.

"They...no...if you harm her..." He tried to speak as menacingly as he could manage, though he was speaking to nothing, a hallucination.

A few seconds passed and he looked at Ace, remembering the berry he'd mentioned. She'd asked him something. It was the feria berry on the planet...he couldn't remember. But it was famed throughout the universe. He'd meant to buy a plentiful supply, to have her try some, to bake muffins with the berry. Which trip was that? Their last one? The one before it?

"Feria berry," he whispered, looking at Ace. "Muffins. Ace...why can't I remember?"

[aces_are_rare]

"No one's hurt me, they haven't even tried." Not recently, at least, but she didn't add that part.

"I'm safe and whole, and we're both in the TARDIS where nothing can get to us." Nothing but the toxin ravaging through his system.

"I'm not leaving you, not ever." She placed her other hand on his cheek, framing his face, and leaned in to kiss the tip of his nose. "I'm staying here until you're better. We've a date planned, remember? Poetry and music. And Muffins, apparently. Let me be your memory for now, Professor. You just rest."

[timewill_tell]

Though her words became muddled to him quickly, filtered through the chaos of his fevered mind, they soothed him, reassuring him. She hadn't been hurt, she hadn't left, wouldn't leave. And they had a date. A date? He smiled tiredly, remembering a small part of that discussion from much earlier.

He needed to rest, and she would be there. The Doctor leaned slightly forward, pressing his forehead to hers and trying to breathe evenly. He was starting to have trouble breathing...that hadn't happened before. His breaths were raspier, uneven, but he tried to regulate his breathing. He couldn't even ponder this new development longer, his eyelids slid closed of their own volition. Ace's cool breath felt wonderful on his skin, and he was already dreaming of her again.

[aces_are_rare]

He was wrapped around her, his arm on her waist, his forehead touching hers, even one toes of one foot covering her ankle. He was the one who was sick but it felt as if he was trying to protect her. Or maybe he thought she would leave of her own volition, forgetting, or not believing, that she wanted to stay with him forever. Her forever, which wasn't long enough but it was all she had to give him.

"I'm staying right here," she whispered against his skin. Maybe if she said it often enough it would seep into his subconscious. "I'm not going anywhere."

Ace frowned when she noticed that the Professor's breathing was off. He never breathed heavily, not even when they were running, thanks to his 'superior' respiratory system (she always rolled her eyes when he used the words superior and himself in the same sentence). He was breathing had now, ragged, and she didn't like it. She moved one hand down to his chest, feeling the rattling there. Another symptom, another thing out of her control. "Breath, Professor. Just breath."

[timewill_tell]

He was too deeply asleep to hear her now, but almost unconsciously tried to respond to her voice, his lungs struggling to compensate for the disruption in his normal breathing mechanism. Unbeknownst to Ace, the TARDIS was working fervently to find another way to treat the toxin; in her databanks, all known treatments seemed to indicate that only the symptoms could be treated, until the toxin itself ran through one's system. However, the TARDIS was also fairly certain a Time Lord had never been infected with this before, and his own symptoms seemed to be more severe than all other known cases, his condition deteriorating more rapidly. Which meant...the treatment, likely, had to account for this difference. The TARDIS bemoaned the fact that she was unable to physically comfort anyone, but she did her best to convey her support for Ace by humming a bit more loudly, trying to indicate to the young woman that she was worried, too.

Despite everything, the Doctor's breathing was getting worse, fluid collecting in his lungs. There was an ominous whistle when he inhaled, a sharp wheeze when he exhaled.