Genocide Post Script: Convalescence

by Ahn-Li Steffraini

Summary: Missing scene from the EDA "Genocide". I felt it needed more whump/comfort. Because Eight doesn't see enough of a whumper's touch ;)

Author's Note: In case you missed it - I'm a whumper. My favourite two are Eight & Ten and Eight never sees enough of a whumper's touch even though he's been enough of the same tough spots as Ten has. Time to fix that...

Characters: The Doctor (8th), Samantha Jones, TARDIS, and totally random dose of our favourite five at Torchwood Three... because where else would the TARDIS take him but to Jack?... and eventually as many Time Lords as a Pre-Time War Gallifrey can possibly fit.

The celebration was winding down.

Samantha Jones looked the Doctor up and down. He wasn't saying anything, then again... he never did... but she knew he was also winding down with it. She had dragged him outside so that he wouldn't be pulled into the emotional quagmire that he had been ready to throw himself into. He was a funny sort of alien that way. So emotional, so human but yet not.

He had also been through too much recently.

Mauvril had starved him almost to the point of death, perhaps even past it. All that had kept him alive in those months and months without food had been a intervenous drip and his own reserves.

He didn't like to dwell on that. He knew that Samantha was worried about him. He could sense it and see it in her eyes. In truth, his strength and reserves were already way past their breaking point and he was quite literally... what was that Earth term? Oh yes... running on fumes. Perhaps even less. Determination?


He could see the edges of his vision already starting to swim, and his body was screaming for sustenance although it was also rebelling at the mere mention of food. It was that odd dictonomy that happened when the body was starved to the point of eating itself where he wanted to eat but knew that if he did he wouldn't be able to handle it.

Not to mention the inadvertent blood loss, which he was being alarmingly reminded off as another dizzy spell swept over his senses, from when he had ripped out the IV to escape Mauvril when she finally decided to kill him.

She had no idea just how close she had actually come.

His vision swam again, and he was dimly aware of Samantha calling his name, and the cold, hard concrete of a bench as he sat on it. It was much too hard on his less than padded behind - not something he had overly worried about before... not that this incarnation had much padding to speak of... but the bony shock of the cold that shot up and through his bones brought him back around with a gasp.

Samantha was looking at him in a mix of shock and horrified concern. Well, that was new. Was he that bad off? "M'fine," he managed to mumble, then cleared his throat for a second attempt. "Sam... Sam... I'm fine although... perhaps we should retire to the TARDIS for the time being?"

She nodded her agreement. "Yeah, we should."

He had to let her help him up and then he unsteadily, and using her to prop himself up far more than he felt comfortable with, they slowly made their way back to the Baron's Residence and into the closet where he had landed the TARDIS and entered it.

As the soothing hum of his time ship washed over the Doctor, he took a breath and found a bit of a second wind. He moved the ship into the Vortex...

Sam watched as he gently removed her hand from his arm and then walked up the TARDIS console, pressed a few of the buttons. The familiar sound of the dematerialization sequence started and she smiled. He would be just fine...

... and then she jumped forward to prevent his head from connecting with the unforgiving floor of the console room.

The Doctor was dead weight in her arms, practically boneless. She rolled him over, lifted his eyelids... no response. Well, there was just enough to thankfully confirm that he wasn't dead, but there was no conscious response. Just reflex to the change in light. Sam moved over the chair and grabbed the cushions that weren't sewn onto it and the throw that was often draped over it.

When she came back over, the Doctor hadn't moved other than to simply breathe. Sam put a cushion under his head and neck, and then wrapped him in the blanket. Two basic things she had learned in first aid to prevent shock. Although, she wasn't sure if it applied to the two-hearted alien but she supposed it couldn't hurt.

She looked at the console and said, "Look, I know you're probably a machine for all the time he talks to you but there have been times I swear you listen, like you actually can hear us... like you can actually respond. I might be crazy... but... if I'm not then please take us somewhere that will help him."

Sam didn't know what she was expecting. Machines didn't do anything other than what the owner or pilot or operator or whatever told them to do. If the necessary voice print wasn't on record she knew she was pretty much screwed until the Doctor recovered enough to give the necessary commands... or teach her how. And she couldn't even speak Gallifreyan.

She didn't expect the Time Rotor to change the slow movement that meant it was in a holding pattern in the Vortex and start moving in earnest... nor did she expect the engines to change pitch. Sam let out a breath she didn't know she was holding.

"No way," she murmured.

The TARDIS had not only heard her, and then understood her... but then... without the Doctor's say so... decided on her own to listen and then do something about it. Sam didn't know whether to laugh or cry but what she did know was that she was never, ever, taking the old time ship for granted again. The only question remained was where the TARDIS felt the Doctor needed to go now for help.