Fic repost: Continuing Care
23/6/11 04:40 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
neveralarchContinuing Care
Doctor Who
Rating: pg
(discussion and depiction of serious illness)
Characters: Eleven, Delgado!Master, Crispy!Master, Ainley!Master
Wordcount: 700ish
Summary: The assisted living home in Amy's Choice is called 'Sarn.' Set post-episode.
A/N: Originally posted here for a prompt on the best_enemies anonmeme. Part XV of the unanoning mission!
It's understandable that he would have nightmares for a while, after the psychic pollen. Forget the fact that Time Lords don't dream, forget the fact that the Doctor in particular is always too busy to bother with sleep. His subconscious has just been stirred up, and he's been tired, and now he has nightmares.
The only thing he does wish is that they weren't so odd.
There's a recurring one that he especially doesn't like. He's a caregiver or a nurse or whatever they're called, Rory would know. He's one of those people at a care home, anyway. Sarn Assisted Living. He's taking care of his favorite patient, Professor Thascalos, the little man with the neat beard and the easy smile and the horrible horrible lung cancer.
The Doctor's changing Thascalos' sheets, fresh soft gray cotton. The other man stands to the side and coughs like he's been inhaling that deadly smoke again. His lungs scrape and groan and when he’s done he looks fine but the Doctor still knows that there’s something wrong inside.
The Doctor finishes and helps Thascalos back to his bed. As he eases his way under the duvet, Thascalos mutters something. The Doctor leans closer to hear him, not releasing his grip on Thascalos' arm.
"You can't keep me like this forever," says Thascalos, and tugs his arm away.
His skin tears and sloughs off, and the Doctor is left with a burned and pain-wracked man whose breathing is even worse than Thascalos' had been. This is Mr. Melkur, and it's the Doctor's job to give him his pain medication and make sure none of his many wounds have reopened.
He slides a pill onto Melkur's tongue, and holds a glass of water at Melkur's lipless mouth as the man tries to swallow. Melkur winces at even the pressure of the cool glass on his jaw, but he never complains. The Doctor breathes out in sympathy, his hand resting against the rough black blankets that cover the bed.
Melkur will never give up fighting for life, not even when each heartbeat is a pounding affront on his chest. The Doctor feels so helpless, unable to give even the solace of hope. It is Melkur’s time and he will go and that is the way of things.
Melkur haltingly raises a finger to beckon, and the Doctor comes as close as he can.
"Change is always for the better," says Melkur, and his wounds begin to disappear. He is a grinning man with a passing resemblance to Professor Thascalos, and his name is Sir Gilles Estram. He's a strong man, often in good health, but sometimes his immune system turns against him and it's like he's fighting for ownership of his body.
The Doctor is drawing blood to test his white blood cell count. He disinfects Estram's arm and inserts the needle, letting the alcohol wipe fall on to the black and gold sheets that Estram asked for specially.
"I think it will be good news today," says Estram. He likes to talk, more than any of the other residents. "I feel more alive than I have in, oh, centuries."
The Doctor smiles at Estram's joke and finishes filling the tube. He puts a band-aid on Estram's arm and tries not to startle when Estram grabs his hand and won't let go.
"Don't leave me," says Estram. His eyes are wild, and his teeth are bared. The Doctor looks him in the face, not turning away as Estram promises and pleads. "I'll make you a king, I'll give you anything-"
He screams, and lets go. The Doctor looks away at last as the flames rise, burning only Estram and his sheets.
Sometimes the dream continues. There's Bruce, yet, and Professor Yana, and Harry Saxon. They have their own ailments, their own deaths.
But tonight the Doctor wakes up to Estram's screams, sweating from the heat of an imagined fire.
A remembered fire.
"I've done a lot of bad things in my time," he says to the waiting dark of his bedroom, and tries to forget.
The dream never fades, as dreams are supposed to.
Doctor Who
Rating: pg
(discussion and depiction of serious illness)
Characters: Eleven, Delgado!Master, Crispy!Master, Ainley!Master
Wordcount: 700ish
Summary: The assisted living home in Amy's Choice is called 'Sarn.' Set post-episode.
A/N: Originally posted here for a prompt on the best_enemies anonmeme. Part XV of the unanoning mission!
It's understandable that he would have nightmares for a while, after the psychic pollen. Forget the fact that Time Lords don't dream, forget the fact that the Doctor in particular is always too busy to bother with sleep. His subconscious has just been stirred up, and he's been tired, and now he has nightmares.
The only thing he does wish is that they weren't so odd.
There's a recurring one that he especially doesn't like. He's a caregiver or a nurse or whatever they're called, Rory would know. He's one of those people at a care home, anyway. Sarn Assisted Living. He's taking care of his favorite patient, Professor Thascalos, the little man with the neat beard and the easy smile and the horrible horrible lung cancer.
The Doctor's changing Thascalos' sheets, fresh soft gray cotton. The other man stands to the side and coughs like he's been inhaling that deadly smoke again. His lungs scrape and groan and when he’s done he looks fine but the Doctor still knows that there’s something wrong inside.
The Doctor finishes and helps Thascalos back to his bed. As he eases his way under the duvet, Thascalos mutters something. The Doctor leans closer to hear him, not releasing his grip on Thascalos' arm.
"You can't keep me like this forever," says Thascalos, and tugs his arm away.
His skin tears and sloughs off, and the Doctor is left with a burned and pain-wracked man whose breathing is even worse than Thascalos' had been. This is Mr. Melkur, and it's the Doctor's job to give him his pain medication and make sure none of his many wounds have reopened.
He slides a pill onto Melkur's tongue, and holds a glass of water at Melkur's lipless mouth as the man tries to swallow. Melkur winces at even the pressure of the cool glass on his jaw, but he never complains. The Doctor breathes out in sympathy, his hand resting against the rough black blankets that cover the bed.
Melkur will never give up fighting for life, not even when each heartbeat is a pounding affront on his chest. The Doctor feels so helpless, unable to give even the solace of hope. It is Melkur’s time and he will go and that is the way of things.
Melkur haltingly raises a finger to beckon, and the Doctor comes as close as he can.
"Change is always for the better," says Melkur, and his wounds begin to disappear. He is a grinning man with a passing resemblance to Professor Thascalos, and his name is Sir Gilles Estram. He's a strong man, often in good health, but sometimes his immune system turns against him and it's like he's fighting for ownership of his body.
The Doctor is drawing blood to test his white blood cell count. He disinfects Estram's arm and inserts the needle, letting the alcohol wipe fall on to the black and gold sheets that Estram asked for specially.
"I think it will be good news today," says Estram. He likes to talk, more than any of the other residents. "I feel more alive than I have in, oh, centuries."
The Doctor smiles at Estram's joke and finishes filling the tube. He puts a band-aid on Estram's arm and tries not to startle when Estram grabs his hand and won't let go.
"Don't leave me," says Estram. His eyes are wild, and his teeth are bared. The Doctor looks him in the face, not turning away as Estram promises and pleads. "I'll make you a king, I'll give you anything-"
He screams, and lets go. The Doctor looks away at last as the flames rise, burning only Estram and his sheets.
Sometimes the dream continues. There's Bruce, yet, and Professor Yana, and Harry Saxon. They have their own ailments, their own deaths.
But tonight the Doctor wakes up to Estram's screams, sweating from the heat of an imagined fire.
A remembered fire.
"I've done a lot of bad things in my time," he says to the waiting dark of his bedroom, and tries to forget.
The dream never fades, as dreams are supposed to.
