lostwolf | The Persephone Problem

The Doctor’s impeccable sense of time alerted him when six hours had passed. He needed to rouse Rose and they needed to get moving. Gently, he jostled Rose, speaking to her softly, encouraging her to wake. She stirred and then, in a violent movement that took him entirely by surprise, she propelled herself from his lap, flinging herself away from him with frantic force. He had visions of her falling to her death and reached for her desperately, only to be arrested by the painful sound of retching; she was being sick. His hearts sank; the more insidious affects of the poison had clearly begun.

Rose woke to the gentle murmur of the Doctor in her ear. For a few perfect moments she was oblivious to her location, basking in the caress of his breath and his words against the shell of her ear and the delightful tingles they produced. Then, like a violent assault, reality bit and with it came an overwhelming urge to vomit. She shot off the Doctor’s lap, barely making it to the cliff edge before the meagre contents of her stomach expelled themselves with frightening and painful force. Tears streamed down her face, dripping onto her clenched hands, as she crouched, shivering, at the edge of the path. She continued to heave painfully; although nothing remained in her stomach to expel, still nausea rolled like a pernicious wave through her, bile flooded her mouth and her belly convulsed. Eventually, her arms collapsed beneath her and she simply lay, spent, cheek pressed into the rock, eyes closed, the void before her and the anxious bulk of the Doctor behind.

She knew she should speak to him. He had no idea what was going on; he couldn’t see her, only hear her, and she really ought to reassure him. At the moment, though, she simply didn’t have the strength. She felt terrible. Her head was pounding, her stomach and sides sore and her body drained. She didn’t understand it; she’d only eaten an apple yesterday, and a few pastries and treats before that at the festival, nothing that ought to make her so ill. Tears continued to leak from her eyes and little snuffling sobs broke from her lips as her stomach continued to clench. She felt so wretched that she flinched instinctively as a hand tentatively touched her back.

‘Rose?’

She screwed up her eyes and summoned up the strength to respond.

‘Careful, I’m right by the edge.’ Her voice was hoarse and little more than a whisper.

‘Are you all right?’ He paused. ‘Don’t answer that, of course you’re not. Here.’ He tenderly ran his hands up her back, charting her form, before easing her onto her back in front of his knees. She watched him with wide tear filled eyes as, even without his sight, he somehow managed to find the part of her that hurt the most. Surprisingly gentle fingers kneaded her abdomen, easing tensed muscles and slowly stilling their spasms. Rose sighed as the pain relented.

‘Thank you.’ She said, pressing her hand into one of his and slowly sitting upright.

His fingers squeezed hers for a moment before he turned away, rummaging in the space beside him to find their provisions, his face turned from her.

As the Doctor hunted through their make-shift bag of provisions he frowned furiously, desperate concern for Rose’s state of health and worry that she would soon become incapable of proceeding flooding his mind and robbing him of almost all coherent thought. She was so impossibly fragile and the sensation of her trembling pained body beneath his fingers had scared him more acutely than he would have imagined possible.

Wiping his face of emotion, he turned back towards Rose, proffering the flask of wine.

‘To rinse your mouth out,’ he said. She took it gratefully, turning to swill and spit over the side of the path.

‘Better?’ He asked. She nodded, then remembered he couldn’t see her.

‘Yeah. Better. Don’t know what happened. Still feel a bit queasy, but whatever you did helped.’ She studied his rigid face. Unable to see his eyes, he was almost impossible to read. He looked angry. Rose sighed. He was probably lamenting being stuck with a weak, pathetic human. She pressed the flask back into his hand and lent her head forwards to rest on her knees. She still felt really rather ill, but there was no point dwelling on it. Running shaky hands through her hair, she rolled towards the wall and using it as a support, forced herself onto her feet. They immediately throbbed, still sore from the abuse they had suffered the day before. She looked at the Doctor, seeing he was about to speak. She rushed to forestall him, unable to face a lecture on human inferiority right now. Steeling herself to endure her discomfort, she instilled as much enthusiasm as she could muster into her voice and addressed the Doctor.

‘Guess we’d better get going, yeah?’

He frowned but got to his feet, slinging the bundle of provisions over his shoulder before reaching forwards. She took his hands and guided them to her shoulders.

‘Ready?’ She asked. He nodded and Rose stepped forwards. The final day of their flight from Hades was underway.

Walking behind Rose, the Doctor dwelled on what increasingly felt like the inevitable consequence of getting himself and Rose into this appalling mess. Rose was going to die and it would be his fault. He was going to have to take her body back to Jackie, assuming he was eventually able to find his way out of this hell hole with Rose’s corpse. If only he were a better Time Lord they might have stood a chance. In theory, he could call the TARDIS to him using his key and the sonic screwdriver. However, blind he would be unable to operate her. Gifted Time Lords who had been properly bonded with their TARDIS could fly their ships telepathically, but this was not something he could do, nor would he be able to instruct Rose sufficiently for safe flight. He would also not be able to instruct her in the operation of the infirmary equipment, at least not well enough to treat his blindness. Blind, he had no hope of treating her and finding the poison in her system quickly enough to cure her.

He closed his eyes, the motion a relief even though it made no difference to his vision. His inadequacy as a Time Lord had condemned Rose to a painful death. His only choice was to play by Adelphos’s rules, but he couldn’t even manage that, could he? They were running out of time. He, a Lord of Time, and yet now, when it mattered most, he did not have enough of it. He should have died with his people and now, because he didn’t, yet another innocent life would be lost. He shuddered, self-loathing flooding his soul and chilling his hearts. Immediately, he felt Rose halt in front go him.

‘Doctor? Are you all right? Your eyes aren’t hurting are they?’ Her voice was anxious as he felt her turn beneath his hands, moving to face him, one small hand reaching up to touch his face.

‘I’m fine, Rose.’ He could swear that he could feel her eyes sweeping his face, trying to determine the veracity of his statement. He knew, however, that his carefully schooled features would give nothing away.

‘Promise?’ He could sense both her tension and her doubt.

He sighed, ‘I promise!’

She huffed. ‘Okay, then. I’ll believe you, but only ‘cause I know you wouldn’t lie to me, not about something so important.’

His stomach dropped at her innocent trust. He smothered the reaction ruthlessly; he was lying to her for her own good. She didn’t need to know how ill she was, it would only upset her and it was better this way. Definitely. No question. No question at all. He knew what was best and not telling Rose about the poison was definitely it. He forced his lips into a smile.

‘I’m definitely fine. Now, come on, long way to go yet, you know!’ He said, telling a truth and thereby concealing the lie.

Rose sighed and turned back round, setting off once more. She knew the Doctor wouldn’t deliberately deceive her but she also knew it didn’t always occur to him to tell her things and she couldn’t help thinking he was keeping something back. She just hoped that it wasn’t about his sight; it would be just like him to pretend he was fine when he was actually in pain, or really worried about something. She stumbled on a rock and wrested her thoughts back to the present and negotiating the perilous path before her. However hard she tried, however, she could not help worrying desperately about the man who, in a few short months, had become the most important person in her life.

As they continued on Rose began to find the silence oppressive, not least because it left her with nothing to concentrate on but her painful feet, woozy head, sore stomach and worries for the Doctor. The silence had stretched on for so long, though, that she felt reticent about breaking it. She’d learnt, in her time on the TARDIS, not to disturb the Doctor when he was in one of his quiet brooding moods, not unless he acknowledged her presence first. She couldn’t tell if this was one of those times and, after their recent difficulties, she felt far less confidence about pushing him. If he didn’t speak soon, though, she would go mad. Screwing up her courage, she forced herself to break the silence, her voice sounding unnaturally loud in the hush of the cavern.

‘So, how much further have we gotta go then?’

She was sure that she hadn’t imagined the sudden convulsion of the Doctor’s fingers against her shoulders. His reply, however, was casual.

‘Just a bit further than we travelled yesterday.’

She felt a shiver of alarm. Something was wrong. He hadn’t sounded irritated by her enquiry, but he was tense, she could tell. That meant there was something else, something he wasn’t telling her. Had he been lying to her after all? He wouldn’t though, would he? She bit her lip; unless he really didn’t trust her anymore. Her musing came to abrupt halt as they rounded a bend in the path. Oh no!

Rose stopped hastily, the Doctor only just managing to stop before he cannoned into her.

‘Rose?’ His voice was alarmed.

She swallowed, trying desperately to sound calm as she regarded the scene before her. ‘Um. I think we have a problem.’

‘What is it?’

‘The path stops.’

‘What do you mean?’

‘The path just stops. There’s about a hole where the path should be.’ Rose paused. Her voice, when it came again, was strained. ‘I think we’re stuck.’

Chapter 13

Lostwolf Fiction

The Persephone Problem - Chapter 12

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