Fic: Borrowed Time (5/11)
Title: Borrowed Time (Part 5 of 11)
Author: lemon_pencil
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Ten, Donna, various others
Disclaimer: Rusty is fail, so I'm taking over. But they're not mine, I'm afraid.
Warnings/Spoilers: Series 4; Planet of the Dead.
Word Count: About 1,800
Summary: Donna wants to go on one last adventure before it's too late...
Author's Notes: Sorry about the wait!
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Back in the gloomy corridor, having left the mortuary, the Doctor and Donna suddenly started as they heard the unmistakable noise of footsteps. Looking around for the source, the Doctor took Donna’s hand and silently pulled her closer to the wall behind them. This attempt to remain unnoticed by whoever was also present in the building at this time of night was entirely in vain, for at that moment their fellow inhabitant of the hospital rounded the corner and saw them immediately. It was a short, bespectacled man, who jumped at beholding the two of them.
“Who are you?” he asked, after recovering from the shock. He peered at their faces in a slightly disconcerting manner. He looked to be in his early thirties, well spoken and with a crop of short, dark hair and a nervous manner.
Perhaps at least some of the confidence the meta-crisis had given her twelve months ago still resided in her mind, because Donna decided to take control of the situation. It had always been the Doctor who had made the introductions, and so when he opened his mouth to speak, she got in there first.
“I’m Donna,” she informed the man. “And this is Doctor…Smith. We’ve been sent to check on the premises - can’t be too careful, you know; have to watch out for journalists trying to get a scoop on the situation. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”
He tried not to betray his surprise, and merely nodded convincingly.
“So you’d better start by telling us who you are,” she demanded authoritatively. The Doctor hid a smile. Oh, she’d been well trained in the art of bluffing your way through a situation by acting as though you knew what you were doing.
The man appeared to tense a little. “Oh, well now, I’ll confess straight away, I’m not supposed to be here actually. The name’s Hector, Hector Salesbury, but I’m not employed at the hospital; I just found a way in by accident and ended up continuing further into the building out of curiosity. I’m fascinated by what’s been happening, you see. I’m a scientist, specialising in brain activity. But never mind that. Don’t give yourselves the trouble of escorting me out, please. I intend to leave right away.”
All this was said in an uneasy sort of way, with much fidgeting and polishing of his glasses. The Doctor warmed towards the man, and decided to tell him the truth.
“Well actually, Hector - good name that, Hector, I like it - we’re not supposed to be here either.” He glanced at their surroundings conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone. We’re nothing to do with the hospital; that was a clever ruse - we’re just looking around. Call it a private investigation,” he beamed, trying to put Hector at ease.
Hector visibly relaxed. “Ah, well if we’re dropping all pretences, I must admit that it wasn’t actually an accident that I came here at all. The rest was true - I’m very interested in this disease, or whatever it is - but my sole purpose in being here was to try and get a look at the body,” he said earnestly.
“Ah, we may have beaten you to that,” said the Doctor. “Found out some intriguing things. We were just about to go back to the lab to analyse what we found, actually. So we’ll leave you in peace, Hector. Cheerio.”
He turned and strolled in the opposite direction and Donna, slightly confused, followed. When they turned a corner, and were out of earshot, Donna interrogated him.
“What did you do that for, block head?” she asked, furiously. “You’re just going to go and let him do whatever he likes with that poor man? How can you trust him?”
“No,” said the Doctor. “We need to know how serious he is about looking into this phenomenon, so we’re going back to spy on him, of course.” He said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on.”
And they snuck back along the corridor, silently apart from a muttered and very sarcastic “Oh, of course,” from Donna.
The mortuary door had a narrow glass window through which, due to the glass being tinted, nothing could be seen of the room - until the Doctor did a little sonicking, that is. He peered through into the space beyond, and widened his eyes in surprise. Hector was holding what could only be described as a small tennis racquet-shaped instrument, white in colour but with pulsing violet horizontal beams where strings would have been on a racquet. He was passing these beams over the man’s face, and intently watching a screen on a hand-held device as he did so.
The Doctor related what he’d seen to Donna, which of course meant nothing to her until he explained.
“He’s using a highly complex portable brain scanner to take readings of the man’s brain, Donna,” he clarified, frowning. “It’s very, very advanced technology. I didn’t know that anybody of this age had progressed that far in the field. He must be incredibly clever. A genius, in fact.” His eyes stared into the distance as he lost himself in thought. When he snapped out of it at last, he looked suddenly stern as though Donna had been the one holding them up. “Never mind that. Back to the TARDIS.”
In the safe warmth of the ship again, Donna watched fondly as the Doctor started the analysis. He was in his element, measuring quantities of brightly coloured liquid, transferring the swab from one solution to another, and even causing a very small explosion at one point, which he insisted was meant to happen. He’s like a little kid with a chemistry set, she thought, rolling her eyes.
“Mind if I go for a walk around the TARDIS, geek boy?” she asked him eventually, when she grew tired of observing the process. He was utterly absorbed in his work, with a pair of tongs between his teeth, and just nodded vaguely.
She set off along the old, familiar passages. It felt strange. It was like coming home, and at the same time it didn’t feel quite the same. It wasn’t fanciful to imagine that there was a slightly unhappy feeling in the atmosphere - the TARDIS did have moods, and Donna envisaged that if the Doctor had spent enough time moping this last year then his negativity would have spread to his ship, too.
Stopping at the door of her old bedroom, she breathed in the scent of the room. Warm, and slightly musty, and slightly alien, and just a hint of strawberries for some reason. It had always smelt like that, even after she had inhabited it for a while. Donna was convinced that the TARDIS made it like that just for her, because it reminded her of home and her Gramps and the Doctor and summer days. She sighed.
It was the Library that held the most memories. It served as a room of all kinds of purposes besides reading books: relaxing after a day’s work saving the world and running; eating late-night snacks; talking long into the night, snuggled up on the sofa.
“Hey,” said the Doctor softly behind her, making her jump. “You’ve been standing there for about five minutes. Since when did you start getting all sentimental?
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe since I found out I had a day left to live?” she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Then she regretted it, seeing the look on his face.
“Sorry, that was a stupid question,” he muttered. “Anyway, erm, I found out what the powder that Officer Goodson was contaminated with is…”
Donna raised her eyebrows expectantly. “And?”
“It’s pollen,” he affirmed. “And it’s alien. From the Yeksveltan Galaxy. Made up of tiny little spores called Croën spores, which are known for their properties of mind alteration when inhaled. Faintly electromagnetic, you see, which is what does it. In this case, they seem to be isolating and shutting down all thoughts except for basic instincts. These spores I’ve been analysing were dead, which is odd because death of the body which they’re occupying wouldn’t usually cause death of the spores.” He paused, and his eyebrows knitted together. “I just don’t understand where people are being exposed to Croën flowers. It’s bizarre. How can you hide a bunch of giant bright yellow flowers?”
Donna gave him a strange look. “Well, you wouldn’t have to hide them would you?” she said. “It’s not as if many people get suspicious about flowers do they? I don’t drive down country lanes thinking, “Ooh, better watch out for those pansies, they could be dangerous!’”
The Doctor scratched his head in thought. “Yes, but a whole load of them springing up at once? People would notice, surely? It’s got to be a recent thing or what’s been going on would have happened sooner.”
Donna’s mouth dropped open. She stared straight ahead as though deep in thought, and then turned to the Doctor as though she had suddenly made a major discovery. “I’ve just had a thought… The Biofuel Corporation!”
“What?” The Doctor looked utterly baffled.
“Listen, recently there’s been a big push for green fuels and all that jazz,” she began to explain excitedly. “After the ATMOS catastrophe, the Government wanted to find a new way of trying to solve the environment problems, so they decided that biofuels were the way forward. You know, making fuels out of plants. Anyway, this big company called The Biofuel Corporation sprang up, and they reckon that this new crop they’re growing is ten times more economical than what they usually use, oil seed rape or whatever. So they’ve bought up a whole load of fields.”
The Doctor raised his eyebrows, and she flushed slightly. “Well, it’s an idea! I just thought maybe -”
“That,” he cut her off, “is brilliant! I mean, we still don’t know why, but it all fits - why it’s been happening in certain areas, for one thing. It's people who live near the fields, or who drive past them on the way to work often. Because they’d have to be exposed to the pollen frequently, so that’s why it hasn’t affected as many people as you’d expect. Yes! Oh, good work, Donna! How did you know all of that, anyway?”
She looked pleased. “It’s been on the news a lot. Didn’t have much to do when I was still looking for a job. It was either the Lunchtime News or Bargain Hunt, and I figured anything was better than David Dickinson.”
“Good point.” He grinned. “Well then, next stop is sorted!”
“Where?”
His grin widened. “We’re going on a field trip, Donna.”
Next part
Author: lemon_pencil
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Ten, Donna, various others
Disclaimer: Rusty is fail, so I'm taking over. But they're not mine, I'm afraid.
Warnings/Spoilers: Series 4; Planet of the Dead.
Word Count: About 1,800
Summary: Donna wants to go on one last adventure before it's too late...
Author's Notes: Sorry about the wait!
Part 1, Part 2, Part 3, Part 4
Back in the gloomy corridor, having left the mortuary, the Doctor and Donna suddenly started as they heard the unmistakable noise of footsteps. Looking around for the source, the Doctor took Donna’s hand and silently pulled her closer to the wall behind them. This attempt to remain unnoticed by whoever was also present in the building at this time of night was entirely in vain, for at that moment their fellow inhabitant of the hospital rounded the corner and saw them immediately. It was a short, bespectacled man, who jumped at beholding the two of them.
“Who are you?” he asked, after recovering from the shock. He peered at their faces in a slightly disconcerting manner. He looked to be in his early thirties, well spoken and with a crop of short, dark hair and a nervous manner.
Perhaps at least some of the confidence the meta-crisis had given her twelve months ago still resided in her mind, because Donna decided to take control of the situation. It had always been the Doctor who had made the introductions, and so when he opened his mouth to speak, she got in there first.
“I’m Donna,” she informed the man. “And this is Doctor…Smith. We’ve been sent to check on the premises - can’t be too careful, you know; have to watch out for journalists trying to get a scoop on the situation. Isn’t that right, Doctor?”
He tried not to betray his surprise, and merely nodded convincingly.
“So you’d better start by telling us who you are,” she demanded authoritatively. The Doctor hid a smile. Oh, she’d been well trained in the art of bluffing your way through a situation by acting as though you knew what you were doing.
The man appeared to tense a little. “Oh, well now, I’ll confess straight away, I’m not supposed to be here actually. The name’s Hector, Hector Salesbury, but I’m not employed at the hospital; I just found a way in by accident and ended up continuing further into the building out of curiosity. I’m fascinated by what’s been happening, you see. I’m a scientist, specialising in brain activity. But never mind that. Don’t give yourselves the trouble of escorting me out, please. I intend to leave right away.”
All this was said in an uneasy sort of way, with much fidgeting and polishing of his glasses. The Doctor warmed towards the man, and decided to tell him the truth.
“Well actually, Hector - good name that, Hector, I like it - we’re not supposed to be here either.” He glanced at their surroundings conspiratorially. “Don’t tell anyone. We’re nothing to do with the hospital; that was a clever ruse - we’re just looking around. Call it a private investigation,” he beamed, trying to put Hector at ease.
Hector visibly relaxed. “Ah, well if we’re dropping all pretences, I must admit that it wasn’t actually an accident that I came here at all. The rest was true - I’m very interested in this disease, or whatever it is - but my sole purpose in being here was to try and get a look at the body,” he said earnestly.
“Ah, we may have beaten you to that,” said the Doctor. “Found out some intriguing things. We were just about to go back to the lab to analyse what we found, actually. So we’ll leave you in peace, Hector. Cheerio.”
He turned and strolled in the opposite direction and Donna, slightly confused, followed. When they turned a corner, and were out of earshot, Donna interrogated him.
“What did you do that for, block head?” she asked, furiously. “You’re just going to go and let him do whatever he likes with that poor man? How can you trust him?”
“No,” said the Doctor. “We need to know how serious he is about looking into this phenomenon, so we’re going back to spy on him, of course.” He said this like it was the most obvious thing in the world. “Come on.”
And they snuck back along the corridor, silently apart from a muttered and very sarcastic “Oh, of course,” from Donna.
The mortuary door had a narrow glass window through which, due to the glass being tinted, nothing could be seen of the room - until the Doctor did a little sonicking, that is. He peered through into the space beyond, and widened his eyes in surprise. Hector was holding what could only be described as a small tennis racquet-shaped instrument, white in colour but with pulsing violet horizontal beams where strings would have been on a racquet. He was passing these beams over the man’s face, and intently watching a screen on a hand-held device as he did so.
The Doctor related what he’d seen to Donna, which of course meant nothing to her until he explained.
“He’s using a highly complex portable brain scanner to take readings of the man’s brain, Donna,” he clarified, frowning. “It’s very, very advanced technology. I didn’t know that anybody of this age had progressed that far in the field. He must be incredibly clever. A genius, in fact.” His eyes stared into the distance as he lost himself in thought. When he snapped out of it at last, he looked suddenly stern as though Donna had been the one holding them up. “Never mind that. Back to the TARDIS.”
In the safe warmth of the ship again, Donna watched fondly as the Doctor started the analysis. He was in his element, measuring quantities of brightly coloured liquid, transferring the swab from one solution to another, and even causing a very small explosion at one point, which he insisted was meant to happen. He’s like a little kid with a chemistry set, she thought, rolling her eyes.
“Mind if I go for a walk around the TARDIS, geek boy?” she asked him eventually, when she grew tired of observing the process. He was utterly absorbed in his work, with a pair of tongs between his teeth, and just nodded vaguely.
She set off along the old, familiar passages. It felt strange. It was like coming home, and at the same time it didn’t feel quite the same. It wasn’t fanciful to imagine that there was a slightly unhappy feeling in the atmosphere - the TARDIS did have moods, and Donna envisaged that if the Doctor had spent enough time moping this last year then his negativity would have spread to his ship, too.
Stopping at the door of her old bedroom, she breathed in the scent of the room. Warm, and slightly musty, and slightly alien, and just a hint of strawberries for some reason. It had always smelt like that, even after she had inhabited it for a while. Donna was convinced that the TARDIS made it like that just for her, because it reminded her of home and her Gramps and the Doctor and summer days. She sighed.
It was the Library that held the most memories. It served as a room of all kinds of purposes besides reading books: relaxing after a day’s work saving the world and running; eating late-night snacks; talking long into the night, snuggled up on the sofa.
“Hey,” said the Doctor softly behind her, making her jump. “You’ve been standing there for about five minutes. Since when did you start getting all sentimental?
“Oh, I don’t know, maybe since I found out I had a day left to live?” she retorted, her voice dripping with sarcasm. Then she regretted it, seeing the look on his face.
“Sorry, that was a stupid question,” he muttered. “Anyway, erm, I found out what the powder that Officer Goodson was contaminated with is…”
Donna raised her eyebrows expectantly. “And?”
“It’s pollen,” he affirmed. “And it’s alien. From the Yeksveltan Galaxy. Made up of tiny little spores called Croën spores, which are known for their properties of mind alteration when inhaled. Faintly electromagnetic, you see, which is what does it. In this case, they seem to be isolating and shutting down all thoughts except for basic instincts. These spores I’ve been analysing were dead, which is odd because death of the body which they’re occupying wouldn’t usually cause death of the spores.” He paused, and his eyebrows knitted together. “I just don’t understand where people are being exposed to Croën flowers. It’s bizarre. How can you hide a bunch of giant bright yellow flowers?”
Donna gave him a strange look. “Well, you wouldn’t have to hide them would you?” she said. “It’s not as if many people get suspicious about flowers do they? I don’t drive down country lanes thinking, “Ooh, better watch out for those pansies, they could be dangerous!’”
The Doctor scratched his head in thought. “Yes, but a whole load of them springing up at once? People would notice, surely? It’s got to be a recent thing or what’s been going on would have happened sooner.”
Donna’s mouth dropped open. She stared straight ahead as though deep in thought, and then turned to the Doctor as though she had suddenly made a major discovery. “I’ve just had a thought… The Biofuel Corporation!”
“What?” The Doctor looked utterly baffled.
“Listen, recently there’s been a big push for green fuels and all that jazz,” she began to explain excitedly. “After the ATMOS catastrophe, the Government wanted to find a new way of trying to solve the environment problems, so they decided that biofuels were the way forward. You know, making fuels out of plants. Anyway, this big company called The Biofuel Corporation sprang up, and they reckon that this new crop they’re growing is ten times more economical than what they usually use, oil seed rape or whatever. So they’ve bought up a whole load of fields.”
The Doctor raised his eyebrows, and she flushed slightly. “Well, it’s an idea! I just thought maybe -”
“That,” he cut her off, “is brilliant! I mean, we still don’t know why, but it all fits - why it’s been happening in certain areas, for one thing. It's people who live near the fields, or who drive past them on the way to work often. Because they’d have to be exposed to the pollen frequently, so that’s why it hasn’t affected as many people as you’d expect. Yes! Oh, good work, Donna! How did you know all of that, anyway?”
She looked pleased. “It’s been on the news a lot. Didn’t have much to do when I was still looking for a job. It was either the Lunchtime News or Bargain Hunt, and I figured anything was better than David Dickinson.”
“Good point.” He grinned. “Well then, next stop is sorted!”
“Where?”
His grin widened. “We’re going on a field trip, Donna.”
Next part