By Enola Jones

He spent five days in hell.

Things meant to kill humans, he could adapt to. Shrug off. Cure himself.

But this was something specifically targeting Time Lords. He feared he would have to regenerate to rid himself of the hallucinations and the weakness and the fever and the pain.

He had no idea where they were. He remembered being dragged into the TARDIS, the doors slamming closed. His last clear memory before the hell began was the distinct sound of her engines firing up.

But now the pain was all but gone. The fever that had left him weak and gasping was reduced to the point now he just felt cold. His vision was clear of hallucinations, but still blurry.

No, wait...he was looking up through glass.

His hands spread slightly to the sides, and he realised by the distinctive fabric that he'd been laid in a healing pod. That meant he was in the Infirmary.

And that meant....

The pod's glass dome slid back and he clutched at the covers, to jerk them up instinctively to cover the nudity that the pod required to work. And realising that he was already covered, to his armpits.

A hand touched his clammy forehead and he turned his head to meet warm blue eyes and a sea of ginger hair. "D..." he began, but he coughed.

"Hush, you daft man," she chided, but there was little heat in it as she helped him sit up and drink a glass of cool water followed instantly by the hot tea to give him the tannins his body needed. "Scared me out of my bloody mind, you did."

"Sorry?" he rasped.

She laughed, hugging him one-armed around his shoulders and then brushing the damp fringe off of his forehead. "I can't take you anywhere, can I, Spaceman?"

And then he realised what a Companion must feel like most of the time. He managed a cheeky smirk at her and quipped, "So....where are we going next, Time Lady?"

"OI!" and she smacked his bare arm. The next moment, they were both laughing helplessly.

He had spent five days in hell. But now, he was home.


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