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Chapter 1, Chapter 2, Chapter 3, Chapter 4, Chapter 5, Chapter 6, Chapter 7, Chapter 8, Chapter 9
Chapter 10. Sleep No More
Rose downed her tenth cup of espresso, trying not to notice the jitters the caffeine was beginning to induce. The Doctor had been ensconced in the library for six hours and, as far as she could tell, they were no closer to a way to fight the Wraith than they had been six and a half hours earlier. And she was getting tired.
She was trying so hard to stay alert, but it had been days since she had slept properly and no amount of stimulant was going to keep her awake for much longer. She needed the Doctor. His company always left her tingling with energy, but she knew better than to interrupt him. He was frantically searching for a solution and her presence would only distract him. So, she made coffee and tried to feel awake, while sitting on the most uncomfortable stool she could find, in a room several degrees below comfort levels. The TARDIS, bless her, was doing her best to help. Rose knew, though, that while it might stave off sleep for a little longer, sooner or later her exhausted mind would succumb. Never had fighting for her life been more dull.
Bored and fed up, Rose let her mind wander. All roads led to the Doctor, however, and the heat that had swamped her as he’d slipped into her mind. She’d been unable to prevent her thoughts meandering to their experience in the bunker, her pleasure at what he had unconsciously been doing to her. Had he felt it? Had he seen it? Was that why his hand had lingered for longer than it had needed to against her chest? Maybe he hadn’t been as disgusted as she’d assumed. Maybe he wanted her as much as she wanted him. She shifted on the stool, feeling her over stimulated body’s reaction to the path of her thoughts. She needed to walk. Leaping off the stool, she headed out of the room; time to pace the corridors and burn off some excess energy.
Six hours later and Rose was slipping yet another cup of coffee, while perched on an uncomfortable stool beneath an almost blindingly bright light. The Doctor was still ensconced in the library researching ways to defeat the Wraith. Rose had popped her head round the door an hour or so ago and found him cursing and pacing angrily. Things weren’t going well and she had snuck off again before he spotted her; the last thing he needed was to see how strung out she was when there was nothing he could do to help. The TARDIS had led her to a small, cold, brightly lit room and had started a sequence of cognitive skills tests to keep her occupied and alert. Rose felt rather like a lab rat as she pressed coloured buttons in sequence with flashing lights, put shapes in the correct sequence, spotted the difference and the odd one out and played the TARDIS version of a pub quiz. When she could stand no more, the TARDIS provided a karaoke machine, bright lights and loud accompanying music and Rose sang her heart out to Gimme, Gimme, Gimme A Man After Midnight, It’s Raining Men, Stand by your Man, The Look of Love, Total Eclipse of the Heart and The Power of Love. Rose was not oblivious to the theme of most of the tracks selected by the ship, and greatly enjoyed singing them. Eventually, however, her voice grew tired and she was yawning too much to sing. After a long cold shower she decided she had no choice but to disturb the Doctor. She felt ready to drop and, if she was going to stay awake any longer, she needed his help.
The Doctor flung the book he was holding across the library, watching with satisfaction as it rebounded painfully from the wall and fell in a heap of bent pages onto the floor. Nothing. Nearly twelve and an half hours of searching and he had absolutely nothing. No cunning plan, no beat death by the skin of our teeth plot. Nothing. Rose was going to die and there was absolutely nothing he could do to stop it.
He fisted his hand in his hair, pulling roughly against his scalp, needing the pain. Rassilon, he’d told Mickey he had duelled with Death for Rose; now he really was, in a far more concrete sense, and he was going to lose because he didn’t even have a weapon with which to fight. For chaos’s sake, he hadn’t even been in the fight from the start; the Wraith had all but consumed Rose before he’d even noticed. She’d been complaining about nightmares and looking tired and he’d just dismissed it. Rose never complained. Yet when she did, when she acted out of character, he just brushed it aside. Last night, she asked him to stay with her; she’d been afraid, and he’d been too proud, too ashamed, to respond to her request. He’d left her alone. If she hadn’t found the strength to scream he’d be planning a funeral now. He might still be, if he didn’t find a way to defeat the fiend that was destroying her. He turned back to the bookshelf, pulling down yet another book of Gallifreyan legend, hoping against hope this one would hold some answers for him.
Forty-two hours later and only the Doctor’s detailed knowledge of alien medicine and stimulants was keeping Rose awake. It was a very temporary solution; soon the effects of sleep deprivation would be almost as dangerous as the Wraith. She was, he knew, liable to start hallucinating soon, a state of waking dreaming that he suspected might be as viable for the Wraith as actual sleep. As it was, Rose was a wreck; dizzy and shaking, she was rapidly losing lucidity, her speech becoming slurred and occasionally incoherent. Right now, she was blinking at him furiously, desperately trying to keep him in focus.
‘I can’t do this.’ Her tone was pitiful, almost broken.
‘You have to, Rose.’
‘I can’t. Please, please, let me sleep, I need to sleep.’ She was sobbing, tremors ricocheting up and down her body as she slowly rocked back and forwards. The need to sleep was almost like physical pain now and as he watched she began to hit her head rhythmically against the arm of the sofa, desperate to distract herself for the terrible tension within her body. She felt as if her head was trapped in a vice and her whole body poised on the edge of a scream. Her hands were clenched into fists, her nails grinding into her palms, drawing blood, and it wasn’t enough, still her body howled for release. Pain, she needed pain to focus. She could no longer remember why she couldn’t sleep and she no longer cared; pain or death, she didn’t care which just so long as they saved her from this, she could endure anything but this.
The Doctor felt sick. He was driving her mad. This was a form of torture and he was deliberately perpetrating it on her because he was too stupid to find another way of fighting the Wraith.
Her head pounding was becoming more violent, and he shifted to intercept her.
‘Stop it, Rose, you’ll hurt yourself.’
Her unfocused eyes struggled to find his. ‘I can’t. Please! God, please! I need to sleep! Please. Please. Please. Please. Please… ’ She was sobbing, keening her need. It was too much. He propelled himself away from her. He couldn’t watch this. Coward that he was, he could inflict consciousness on her but he couldn’t endure it with her. He needed space. Space to think, to find a solution.
‘I’ll be back,’ he promised her insensible form, before striding from the room. He barely made it out of the door before he was crumbling, pounding his fists against the wall. Rassilon! There had to be something he could do!
Chapter 11
