In Her Eyes (A Whouffle Fanfiction)

Chapter 25- Last Resort

Morning dawned bright and crisp and cold. The Doctor stirred fitfully, arms clasping the sleeping girl tight in his arms. He didn't want to wake up. 

Today was the beginning of the end of Clara's life expectancy. 

Reluctantly the Doctor opened one eye, registering the movements of her chest against his, breathing a sigh of relief when he realised that she was in fact still alive and he wasn't clutching a dead body. He'd be lying if he said that the idea hadn't crossed his mind. Feeling a little calmer now he shifted as close to Clara as he could and frowned when he felt her tank top rubbing against his chest. Looking down he shifted back in her arms as he considered his bare chest, wondering how it had gotten into that state of nudity, then remembered that he had woken up in the middle of the night and taken it off, as between her body heat and the unusually hot night air the bed had become stiflingly hot to lay in, and he had decided that he would much rather lay in bed with no shirt on than slide out of her arms and sleep on 'his' side of the bed. Which was fine at the time, but now that he was fully conscious and able to feel every touch of her skin on his, he began to wonder whether it had been such a good idea after all. 

Human. You're Time Lord. Human. Time Lord. It would never work. But his protests sounded progressively weaker every time he said them, his arguments of why he really should not be sharing a bed with her or even having thoughts about her quickly evapourating with every sleepy nudge and touch she gave him. 

To distract himself from her a little the Doctor leaned up on his elbow, dislodging Clara slightly, and squinted at her digital alarm clock on her desk on her side of the bed, facing the windows. She mumbled beside him, subconsciously cosying into him again once he had read the display and had settled back into the bed. 

Ten past seven in the morning. It was time for the Doctor to go to the bathroom and retrieve her medicines from the cupboard he had stored them in yesterday afternoon; to measure out tablets and unfold her wheelchair before bringing her breakfast in bed. He gently unclasped her hands and sat up, bringing his knees to his chest as he brought himself up to sit on top of the duvet. Clara stirred, arm reaching across the mattress for him, eyes snapping open when she couldn't find his warmth. She frowned sleepily forehead coming together and he smiled, arms wrapping around his knees as she threw up an arm over her eyes against the glare coming through the gap in the curtains. She yawned, upper body stretching like a cat. 

"Good morning,"he said softly. She groaned, making him chuckle, and pressed her palms into the mattress behind her to drag herself up into a sitting position. She managed it eventually, but with a pained grimace and short gasps that had never accompanied the action before. He slipped his palm from his knee to the small of her back, concerned, rubbing the lax muscle there to reassure her. 

"Are you alright?" he asked her once she had reached the headboard. She laughed bitterly and bit back a sob, wiping at her eyes angrily. 

"I can't feel my waist," she muttered, head falling back on the wooden planks behind her. 

The Doctor swore. Loudly, and colourfully. He thumped a fist on the pillow behind him, trying not to scream. 

"It's spreading, isn't it," Clara said, voice resigned. He put his face in his hands. 

"I'm sorry, Clara. I-I-I don't know-what to do, I don't-there's no- I don't understand-" He rubbed at his face, "Where-where has it spread to?"

"Just under my chest," she replied dully. She lifted an arm to pull herself over to him, but stopped abruptly, hand hanging limp in mid-air. "Oh god," she whimpered," Doctor, my arm- it won't lift, it's going numb, Doctor. Doctor!" Her hand fell onto her thigh with a slap, and as he horrifiedly watched the rest of her body began to tense and relax as the muscles and nerves were attacked, each cell being burnt out of her body.

His blood ran cold. This was it.

The Doctor jumped out of the bed at her cry, sprinting to the bathroom to gather up as much of her medicine as he could, tossing boxes over his shoulder as he tried to locate the right one. Once he had the rest fell to the ground with a clatter, fingers flumbling with the box lid as he desperately tore it open and spilled the contents into his palm.

A single syringe, with an inch of amber liquid sloshing around in it as he ran.

It was the Tine Lords' final resort- when somebody was so ill that conventional cures would not cure them, once their sicknesses had progressed to the final stage- this was the final drug they could administer. It would either stop Clara's paralysis in it's tracks, or kill her, burn her from the inside out.

But if she went, she wouldn't be going alone.

The Doctor burst back through the bedroom door, hearts bursting with pain as he saw her motionless on the bed, shoulders occasionally twitching- the only sign that she was still alive. Her chest no longer moved. He dived into her mind at the same time that he leaped on the bed with her, straddling her for leverage as he melded his mind with hers. He felt her trying to shove him out her mind, mentally shouting at him about how he couldn't, it was wrong, he needed to live, but he embraced her in her mind, giving her the mental equivalent of a kiss, and as she responded, melting into it but still fighting him weakly, he gave the syringe plunger a test push then stabbed it into her leg.

And as he wrapped his arms around her torso, pulling her limp body to him to press their foreheads together one last time, he felt her heart flutter feebly and the burning begin.