My fanfiction and other random ramblings

Srebrna, Skald Arkadii (and thoughts on writing)

But if you can still dream – 4

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“They who dream by day are cognizant of many things which escape those who dream only by night.”
Edgar Allan Poe, Eleonora (1841)

The Doctor – Sleepwalking

Doctor strolled the corridor, looking around for his handsomer-than-life companion in order to drag him by his ear and get outside. Jack was most probably enjoying the contents of the fridge or the contents of the DVD-and-other-recordings shelves. He could have asked TARDIS to locate the Captain for him, but he preferred the old-fashioned way. It gave him an occasion to think – something he didn’t indulge in lately – and to stop for a moment and recollect.
Jack was indeed in the kitchen, fixing himself a large toast sandwich with layers of lettuce, some – probably named – meat, mayonnaise, pickles – probably not Earth-bought – and tomato. As he chopped the green onions with an ugly-looking curved knife, he looked up and smiled toothily at the Doctor.
“Want one?”
“Nah, don’t trouble yourself. I’ll fix myself something less complicated. Any of this meat left?” he opened the fridge.
“The container on the left. I did some throwing-out. Don’t worry, I consulted with our lady as to what should be left for you, but I wanted to assure there will be no throwing-up after we consume a random product from this piece of antique. Where did you get a lead-lined fridge, by the way?”
“USA, mid-50’s. Of twentieth century, of course. Ah, that’s the thing!” he pulled out a small round of cheese and a salami mignon. “You said you threw things out?”
“They are all stored in some coldroom in case we didn’t identify them properly. TARDIS will show you, I’m going to watch some mind-numbing video-game derived movie. Want to join?”
“I’ll pop in later and see if I can understand the plot.”
They both laughed shortly and Jack marched out, trying not to loose his hold on his sandwich. Apparently the outing would have to wait.
He sat at the counter and slowly put together a dark-bread sandwich. Last time he did that, in such a calm silence, he was not so calm at all…
…he was making sandwiches for Rose and himself, all wholegrain bread, no butter, almost no salt. Hers with additional tomato, his with additional pickles and fried onion. Usually Rose did that, almost automatically – she cut up the ingredients when he put the water to boil and chose the current tea-of-the-day, she buttered the bread when he measured teaspoons of tea… – but today she was sitting on the sofa, in front of the TV, with a jug of milk, a glass, and a tin of cookies nearby, wrapped in a woollen blanket and shivering a bit. They were already headed for Earth, but TARDIS didn’t want to interfere with Rose’s state of health more, so she was taking an indirect route. As any indirect route, it was not much easier, but certainly much longer. At least Rose stopped being sick every time they passed through some time layer and having cramps when TARDIS changed the direction.
No other companion before had ever displayed such symptoms. Of course, they were from a different time and may have conquered the problem by themselves due to the feeling that as a male he should not be conscious of it. Rose had no such inhibitions and she showed her feelings – and needs, or pain, as in this case – without restraint. So when he walked into the TV room in the time he would associate with her subjective morning, she was wrapped in a blanket, wearing a warm sweatshirt, sweatpants, and shivering. Her face had a slightly greenish hue and the sat there with her eyes closed.
“Rose? What’s wrong?”
She started at the sound of his voice.
“‘m feeling kind of sick” she murmured. “Dizzy. Cramps. An’ me head hurts. Don’ turn the light on.”
He sat beside her and checked her forehead, but found it normal, even a bit colder than usually.
“I’ll make you some tea, you think it would help?”
“Maybe. I need a medicine…” she paused and swallowed. “I used up all I had with me. How soon can we get back?”
“You mean, your-time London? Subjective two, three hours, no more. You’ll manage?”
“Hope so. Bring me this tea?”
“Wait here.”
After some tea and a dose of paracetamol-derived painkiller Rose managed to straighten herself on the sofa and even fall asleep. Until the first time layer.
‘Do you think she is really ill?’
‘Yes. No.’
‘Thanks for your help.’
‘She is ill, but it will end soon.’
‘What’s really wrong? She never had this kind of symptoms before…’
‘Human female reproductive cycle. Vortex tampered with it. She is… unstable.’
‘You mean, wrong time of the month came at the wrong time?’
‘Yes. More than once.’
He sat at the console and tried to tweak the course slightly.
‘The Vortex changed her subjective time perspective. She lives day-night time as a human, because she does this partly consciously. But her body works in another cycle. She never noticed this because she cannot properly count time here. Am I right?’
TARDIS waited for a moment.
‘Did you just scan her?’
Girls. Females.
‘Let’s get us to London. I feel a shopping trip is coming.’
Unfortunately it became soon evident that they would need something more than painkillers to stop Rose from feeling as if her insides were trying to march out on their own. As soon as TARDIS jumped through one of the first barriers on her way towards 20th century, Rose woke up screaming and collapsed on the floor, holding her stomach.
Fortunately his experience with injuries left him with enough knowledge – and supplies – to administer an almost industry grade – or rather, military-grade – sedative-cum-painkiller. After several long minutes, when he had already cursed himself silently for taking such risks with her life and started to work out an antidote, she finally loosened her hold on his hands and looked at him with slightly dreamy eyes. He helped her to sit up, collect herself and even braid her hair to hold it from her face just in case another bout of nausea caught her before she could react.
“So, now, here is the tea, and TARDIS declares it will take about eight hours if we take it slowly and fly carefully. I don’t know how long this drug will work and I cannot guarantee it being harmless – I’d wager it is quite harmful, rather – so I don’t want you to take another dose. Is there anything you want, apart from tea?”
She closed her eyes and hugged herself.
“I think… I think I threw up my breakfast. And some more. I need my toothbrush and something to eat” she wrinkled her nose. “Not smelly. Cheese and tomato sandwich? We have some of this nice bread left?”
“Sure we have” he patted her hand and pulled the blanket closer around her.
So he sliced the cheese and combined everything in several nice-looking sandwiches, he poured some more tea and took it all on a tray to the TV room. She was sleeping, but the position looked darned uncomfortable, so he tried to move her a bit to avoid her neck cramping. She sighed, purred and nestled next to him, with her back to his side and her head just under his shoulder. He hugged her carefully, not wanting to press any painful spots, but wishing to keep her there… just a moment longer…

“Doc!” Jack’s voice woke him up, suddenly, and he realised that he not only finished fixing his sandwich, half-ate it, but walked from the kitchen do the TV room with his eyes closed. And now was apparently trying to hug an overstuffed pillow bought by the Captain at some flea market. “You ok? What are you, sleepwalking?”
“No way” the Doctor answered, biting into his sandwich furiously. “I never sleepwalk. I was checking if I could still get around the place in darkness” he chewed energetically and almost spat. “Who added sugar to my sandwich?!”


Written by Srebrna

2013/07/24 at 20:23

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