Doctor Who - 04 - On a Pale Horse

.11. Being Human

It was hot. It was very, very hot. It was like being inside the Vesuvius, inside the escape pod, spit roasted from the outside by Pyrovillian foot soldiers. Actually, it was even hotter than that. Far beyond the point where the body melts and the brain evaporates. Far beyond the hot like hell point.

The Doctor struggled to open his eyes. When he finally managed to lift his eyelids a little, he realised that moving his eyeballs was much too painful, so he only looked up, into the darkness, slowly recognising a pattern of arched bricks on the ceiling. And then he tried to think. Ow, that was a challenge! Just breathing and thinking, and looking up.

"Donna?" he whispered. His voice was hoarse and almost soundless; just a painful gasp.

"I'm here."

He felt cold fingers closing on his own burning hand. It was so pleasant he closed his eyes for a little while, and then had to struggle again to open them back.

"Doctor?" Donna whispered. "Can you hear me?"

"Nothing wrong with my ears," he croaked. "It's my eyes that won't move."

"Oh!" Donna exclaimed and started stroking his hair, which was also painful, since even his follicles were making him miserable at the moment. "I thought... I thought..."

"Except I don't move my ears... much," the Doctor concluded. "How long did I sleep?"

Donna made a sound as if swallowing something, and when she answered her voice was soggy and shaky. "Almost eleven hours."

"What?!" The Doctor tried to spring up, which resulted in lifting his head a few inches above the pillow, and in a coughing fit that almost sent him into the state of unconsciousness again. "Eleven...? Why did you let me... let me... sleep... for... so long...?"

"I couldn't wake you up."

"Well, of course you could!"

"No. I couldn't. I tried, and I couldn't," Donna sobbed. "And I think you needed some sleep. You don't sleep enough. You hardly ever sleep at all. Which is dumb. Cause sleep is healthy. You should have your healthy sleep every day. You wouldn't be so skinny."

"What?"

"Oh, Doctor!" Suddenly Donna's hair was all over his eyes, lips and nose, as she buried her face in a hollow of his neck, wrapping her arms around his shoulders, as good as she could in that awkward position. She was sobbing loudly, and her tears were rolling down the Doctor's neck and under the collar of his opened shirt. The Doctor lifted his right hand (the one made of lead), and patted Donna's head.

"There, there," he mumbled comfortingly. There was a plastic needle protruding from the back of his hand, connected via clear tube to a bag of liquid suspended on a makeshift wooden rack. The Doctor lifted his other hand (the one made of iron), and noted another needle inserted into a vein above his thumb, but not connected to anything.

"A pingpillow," he wheezed. "No... Wait... A pincushion. I look like a pincushion. Needle to say."

That was supposed to be funny, but Donna sobbed even louder, and more tears rolled down his neck towards his shoulder blades. The Doctor tried to blow her hair off his face.

"Donna... Donna? Donna, can you...? Donna!"

"I'm sorry." She sat up, wiping her face with both hands. Her eyes were red and swollen, so was her nose. "I'm sorry I melted like that, but I was so worried."

"Naah," he rolled (or attempted to roll) his eyes. "What were you worried about?"

Donna looked at him incredulously. "Are you serious?"