Until We Burn | Dr Who

Chapter Eighty-Seven: The Man in the Brown Suit

Panic immediately sets in. I try to steady the Doctor's convulsions, undoing his top few buttons and loosening his tie to allow more room to breathe. "What do we do?"

Agatha sniffs his glass. "Bitter almonds. It's cyanide, sparkling cyanide!"

He tries to stand. Without hesitation, I join him and slip his arm over my shoulders to provide some stability. We tear into the kitchens where he grabs onto a passing waiter. "Ginger beer!"

"I beg your pardon?"

"I need ginger beer!"

"The gentleman's gone mad!" a servant cries.

I rush past her and swipe a bottle from the shelf, shoving it into his hand. "Stay with me, Doctor. Stay with me. What do we do next?"

"I'm an expert in poisons, Doctor," Agatha shouts, narrowly dodging the splash of ginger beer that he pours over his head. "There's no cure! It's fatal!"

He spits the drink out, gasping. "Not for me! I can stimulate the inhibited enzymes into reversal. Protein! I need protein!"

Donna hurries over with a glass jar. "Walnuts."

"Brilliant!"

Now with his mouth full, he starts to mime, flailing his hand about. "Well, what in bloody Tartarus is that supposed to be?"

"How many words?" Donna tries, resulting in him holding up a finger before continuing the mime. "One! One word. Shake. Milk shake. Milk? No, not milk?"

I try to steady him again, grasping his shoulder, now dampened by spilt ginger beer. "Doctor, you've got to do better than that if you want to survive the next few seconds... because I swear, I'm gonna kill you if you let something as stupid as cyanide get the best of you, you hear me?"

"Shake, shake, shake..." she continues to screech. "Cocktail shaker! What do you want, a Harvey Wallbanger?"

He stares at her, incredulous. "'Harvey Wallbanger'?"

"Well, I don't know!"

"How is 'Harvey Wallbanger' one word?"

"I'll give you one word: dead! Tell us what you need or that's what you'll bloody well be!" I shriek, pushing him upright as he starts to curl in on himself again.

He does the action again. "Salt, I was miming salt! Salt! I need something salty!"

"How is that 'salt'?"

Donna runs away, returning with a brown paper bag. "How about this?"

He eyes it sceptically. "What is it?"

"Salt."

"That's too salty."

"Oh, 'that's too salty'!"

Next comes Agatha with another jar. "What about this?"

Grabbing it, he practically tears the lid off to reveal the unpleasant-smelling contents. "What's that?" Donna asks as he guzzles down half the jar.

"Anchovies."

"What is it? What else?" He raises his hands, palms out and still quivering. "Um... it's a song? Mammy? Um, I don't know, Camptown Races?"

"'Camptown Races'?"

She scoffs, "All right then, Towering Inferno!"

At this point, he has become a mess of pale skin, sweat, ginger beer, walnut dust and anchovy juice. Waving his hands again, he cries, "It's a shock! Look! Shock! I need a shock!"