Rating: PG-13, Doctor/Harry slash
Summary: After his regeneration, the 4th Doctor is given into Dr Harry Sullivan’s personal care.
Disclaimer: The Doctor Who Universe belongs to the BBC and various other people who are not me.
Notes: An extension of the skipping scene from ‘Robot’. Thanks to my Betas, Prettyarbitrary and Tekiclutch.

* * *

I had only been assigned to UNIT’s medical staff shortly before I met the Doctor. The posting was not anything out of the ordinary; I gave check-ups to the fighting men and women that were posted there. At first, the only unusual thing about the posting seemed to be that everybody else was from the Army and I was from the Navy. It’s never easy to work in another service. That’s not to say that the soldiers were ever unfriendly but there was always an attitude of ‘oh, you’re the Navy chap’. I got so sick of hearing it, that I made it a point to wear my white coat as often as possible. I suppose it didn’t help that I’ve always been a fairly reserved sort of fellow myself.

The Brigadier summoned me to a medical emergency and I came to UNIT’s headquarters, a room I’d never been to before. I opened the door and the first thing I saw was a girl in a bright blue dress and an absurd white hat kneeling over somebody on the ground. Brigadier Stewart was standing off to the side, watching grimly with his arms crossed.
“...and stupid,” said a loud voice from the ground.
It was the voice of a man. I walked forward so that I could see past the girl. The girl ignored me mostly, her eyes glued to the face of the semi-conscious man in front of her. I cast no more than a quick glance at the giant blue Police Box in the corner. UNIT was often up to classified dealings and I felt it was better not to ask.
“This the patient, then?” I asked but nobody bothered to give me a reply.
Sergeant Benton approached the Brigadier and they began talking to one another quietly. The girl reached down and gripped the unconscious man’s gloved hand tightly.

I knelt down to examine him. A quick check showed that his breathing was steady and his pulse, while slightly erratic, was within perfectly acceptable limits. His temperature seemed stable; if slightly cool to the touch. There were no serious injuries visible. It was then that I looked to his face. He seemed to be in his early forties and, judging from his clothes, was clearly a civilian. It was a face full of extremes - the nose was slightly too big for the face, the hair was too clown-like for the seriousness of the expression, the lips were far too wide and the teeth were far too big for his mouth. Then he opened his eyes. They were large, brown and full of life. Suddenly it didn’t seem to matter that the rest of his face seemed slightly out of proportion; it just seemed to fit somehow.

Faster than anybody could restrain him, he was sitting up and gripping the girl’s arm absent-mindedly.
“If the square of the hypotenuse equals the sum of the square of the other two sides... why is a mouse when it spins?” he asked, staring at a fixed point over the Brigadier’s shoulder.
It was hard to say whether the silence that met this remark was because surprise at his recovery or simply because nobody could answer the question.
“Huh,” said the man, looking bemused. “I never did know the answer to that one.”
Then he collapsed again, his grip on the girl’s arm going limp. The brown eyes closed and once more the face seemed drawn and out of proportion.

I stood up. I’d seen enough to recognise a man in shock, probably from a blow to the head. There was no reason he couldn’t be moved. The girl finally looked at me for the first time. She was trying to be strong but I could see the worry in her eyes. I tried to smile reassuringly at her but then returned to business. I turned to the soldiers that had accompanied me in.
“Take him to the infirmary,” I ordered. “I’ll conduct a full examination there.”
The soldiers complied quickly and even their movements carried a sense of urgency. It seemed that, despite being a civilian, this stranger was important to them and I very much got the impression that they knew him personally. Intrigued, I began to follow them out as they carried my patient away. The girl stood up and watched us leave.
“Lieutenant Sullivan,” called the Brigadier.

I stopped in the very act of closing the doors behind me. It was only the second time that the Brigadier had ever called me by my rank. The first time had been when I first joined UNIT but since then it had been ‘Dr Sullivan’.
“Yes, sir?” I asked, looking at him expectantly.
The Brigadier looked unhappy, “I’m placing the Doctor in your personal charge. He’s to have your full attention.”

He looked me directly in the eye and I was left in no doubt that my patient was important in some way that the Brigadier wasn’t prepared to admit to.
“Righto, sir,” I said.
I waited for a beat but then I closed the door. I left the Brigadier and the girl to fret in their own way. There was no point in spinning them platitudes until I knew exactly what was wrong with the man and what his condition truly was.

I followed my conscripted orderlies back to the infirmary. This man who the Brigadier had called the Doctor was laid on a bed. I sat down to examine him further while the two soldiers waited behind me. I soon got the feeling that the soldiers weren’t there because they were assigned or because they wanted to be helpful - they were checking up on me. My temper eventually snapped and I sent them scurrying from my infirmary. I didn’t spend years in medical training just to be told how to do my job.

* * *

I stayed by his side to monitor him, catching up on paperwork. He stirred in fits, usually without warning and muttering as if he were in the middle of a conversation.
“I had to face it,” he said urgently, sitting up in bed suddenly and seizing the front of my coat.
The brown eyes were gazing fiercely into mine, the force of his grip nearly pulling me forward off my stool. I would never have guessed that he would be so strong.
“I had to face it,” he repeated. “I had to face my fear. Understand?”
His tone was urgent, pleading for some kind of reassurance.
“Of course you had to,” I told him gently.
He nodded, mildly placated and went limp again. I grabbed his head with my hands before it could knock against the edge of the bed. I laid it gently back on the pillow, the curls tickling my palms.

It seemed that my reassurance had worked too well. He didn’t stir for the rest of the night and most of the next morning. I spent a good portion of the night there, anxious to be sure that it really was sleep and not a coma. After several hours had passed, I reflected ruefully that it was unfortunate that I had already chased the soldiers away - I might have been able to persuade them to fetch me a cup of tea.

The girl happened to visit during that night and was unhappy to find the Doctor unresponsive when she called to him. She introduced herself to me as a journalist named Sarah Jane Smith. Exactly what a journalist was doing on a top-secret facility was never explained. I assumed that it was unlikely that she was here in a professional capacity. Probably, she had gained admittance because she had an important relative on staff.

Like the soldiers had, she watched me critically the whole time, assessing my every movement.
“What can be done?” she demanded.
“I’m afraid, Miss, that there isn’t much that I can do,” I told her gently.
She looked affronted at my tone, “Isn’t much that you can do? Why on earth not?”
“He’s suffering from shock,” I told her. “This isn’t something I can sew back together again, you know. Fortunately, I doubt he’ll get any worse. We just have to wait.”
“Just have to wait?” she repeated, looking at me as if I’d said she’d grown two heads. “Can’t you find out what’s wrong with him and just make him wake up?”
“I’m afraid not, Miss,” I told her, trying to keep my amusement in check. “There’s nothing physically wrong with him. I can recognise and diagnose physical damage but shock or trauma is a very different matter. I have seen patients recover from much worse.”

She fixed me with a glare that told me that I had not successfully kept a straight face.
“Do you know where I might find the Brigadier? Or Sergeant Benton?” she asked.
“My guess would be in the cafeteria,” I told her helpfully. “It’s lunchtime.”
“So it is,” she agreed thoughtfully, still looking at me funny.
She clearly didn’t trust me to look after the Doctor properly.
“Why don’t you let me handle it, old girl?” I offered, trying to look at my most competent.

She bit her lip and I got the idea that she was trying to stop herself from saying something hostile. She tightened her grip on her handbag and walked to the door. I walked with her and opened the door for her. She glared at me again as she walked out through it. I could do little but hope that she wasn’t too well connected or I could just have sunk my own career.

* * *

It was nearly noon the next day by the time he stirred again. This time he seemed to barely register my presence in the room. Instead he sat up, hand reaching out towards thin air. His brown eyes were turned away from me.
“Brigadier!” he shouted, sounding profoundly irritated. “Mind my car!”
I reached out to grab his hand but it was already limp again. Instead I sat there for a moment, feeling the cool fingers curl up within my own. I stared at the hands. They were wrinkled but there was a hidden strength in them. I had felt it when he had seized my coat earlier. There wasn’t any strength in them now.

I’m not sure when I realised he was awake. I felt like I was being watched and I turned to look at him. The brown eyes regarded me with a faint mixture of confusion and amusement.
“You can’t check my pulse through my fingers,” he told me, grinning at me with his impossible teeth.
His hand grabbed mine and he yanked me forward from my stool. I landed half on top of him, throwing out my free hand to try and keep my balance. We were pressed together now on the bed, our faces so close I had to pull my head back in order to focus on his face.
“Or is that not what you’re checking for, eh?” he asked, his eyes twinkling and his lips curling into a cheeky grin.
“I assure you I’m a medical professional...,” I began.

I hadn’t finished before the eyes had closed again and my hand was released. I was quite glad that I had sent the soldiers away earlier. I crawled off of the bed, feeling strangely embarrassed. I fetched a nurse and instructed her to arrange for somebody to be with him at all times while I got a few hours sleep.

* * *

I returned to the infirmary after a good seven hours. According to the nurse, he had woken twice more but he hadn’t spoken directly to her. Instead, he’d ranted about giant teleporting spiders and a woman named Jo. I released her to go get some rest of her own.

I pulled my stool up to his bedside again. I placed my stethoscope in my ears and was about to press the other end against his chest when he awoke again. He jerked upright, snatching my wrist in a vice-like grip.
“What are you doing?” he asked, blinking and frowning.
“I’m trying to listen to your heartbeat, if you’ll just let me…,” I began, smiling pleasantly at him.
“Why?” he asked, eyes widening in child-like curiosity.
“I can understand you’re a little confused,” I explained. “I’m your Doctor…”
“But I’m the Doctor,” he said plaintively.
“Yes, but I’m Dr Sullivan,” I explained. “And you are Doctor… who?”
He passed out again.

I sighed and studied him again. The Brigadier had never given my patient any name other than ‘The Doctor’ and had remained tight-lipped about his origins. I was very much starting to feel as if there was something the Brigadier wasn’t telling me. Shrugging, I raised the stethoscope again to try to listen to his heartbeat.

Once again he shot upright without warning, knocking the stethoscope away. The brown eyes stared at me, wide enough to suggest hysteria.
“Why are you so interested in my chest?” he asked curiously.
“I’d like to listen to your heart beat…,” I said cautiously.
“Oh, is that what you want is it?” he asked and his eyes were twinkling. “Are you sure?”
I stuttered for a moment before regaining my composure.
“Yes,” I said firmly. “That is what I want to do. Now lie down and behave yourself.”
“Oh,” he said.

He lay down again but propped up on his elbows so that he could watch me. He gave me the impression of an adult humouring a stubborn child. It didn’t particularly matter to me what he thought of me, as long as he cooperated.
“What was your name again?” I asked casually, as I tried to make a subtle approach with the stethoscope.
“I’m the Doctor,” he said cheerfully, fending off the stethoscope.

I abandoned the stethoscope attempt and sat back to look him in the eyes.
“Doctor, I want you to listen to me very carefully…,” I began.
“Why?” he interrupted. “Are you going to say something important?”
“Doctor, you’re not well and I’m going to look after you,” I said loudly, talking over the top of him.
Looking offended, he opened his mouth to complain but couldn’t quite think of anything to say. Then he looked at me slyly, as if something had just occurred to him.
“Going to look after me, are you?” he asked mysteriously.
Then he launched himself upright and out of the bed. He moved so fast that I jumped back off my chair to avoid being knocked off it.
“I won’t stand for it!” he announced before promptly passing out and falling forward on top of me.

To my credit, I managed to hold his weight for a good ten seconds before I forced him backwards so that we both toppled back onto the mattress. I extricated myself from our entangled limbs and stood back. I reflected ruefully that I really ought to be getting hazard pay for this sort of thing. It also occurred to me that the services of a psychiatrist might be necessary. Then again, psychiatrists didn’t do so well with comatose patients so that option would have to wait until he was awake for more than five minutes at a time.

* * *

I wouldn’t have said it was possible but after three weeks, I still hadn’t managed to listen to the Doctor’s heartbeat using my stethoscope. While he was otherwise comatose and unpredictable, any attempt to use the stethoscope would provoke an instant reaction. Once, the stethoscope was thrown out the window. It was only because I grabbed him by the nightshirt that he didn’t topple out of the window too as soon as he passed out again.

He always seemed amused and suspicious to see me, though I had to repeat my name several times. He always seemed insulted when told he was in the infirmary or when told he was unwell. I took to telling him that he was in the sickbay and that he was just a little out of sorts. Sometimes he’d remember our previous conversations and sometimes he wouldn’t. The girl came to visit regularly but at such odd hours that I gathered she must be working most of the day. The Brigadier popped in once or twice but always seemed embarrassed and didn’t stay long. He was reserved and it was difficult to know what he was thinking.

Sergeant Benton popped in like clock-work every week for an update on the Doctor’s condition. He was a friendly sort and he never said it in so many words, but I had a feeling he was reporting straight back to the Brigadier. I tried not to be too insulted that everyone was watching over my shoulder as if I were still a medical student. Granted, I wasn’t as experienced as the base’s previous medical officer but I wasn’t straight out of the academy. I had four years of experience under my belt and none of my colleagues had ever questioned my competence. That, I feel, is saying something since the head nurse at the UNIT base struck me as a woman unafraid of giving out her opinion. If I’d been completely incompetent, she would have told me.

It was after one of Benton’s visits when the phone in my office rang. I tried to answer it without sounding too depressed.
“Dr Sullivan?” asked a voice politely.
I recognised Benton’s voice, wondering what he wanted so soon after he’d left the infirmary.
“Sergent Benton?” I said, trying to sound enthusiastic. “Was there something else?”
“Well, Dr,” said Benton, sounding awkward. “I thought I’d just ring and let you know that the Brigadier and Miss Smith are on their way to visit the Doctor.”
“Are they?” I asked dryly. “Well, thankyou for the advance warning.”
“Don’t mention it.”
“Don’t worry, I won’t.”

We hung up and I marched into the infirmary to see the Doctor. I think I was in such a good mood that I was humming. For the first time, it seemed as if somebody was actually being friendly rather than simply polite. I was trying to think of a way of returning the favour when I realised that the Doctor’s bed was empty. While the Doctor had often had the strength to stand up, he hadn’t been able to keep his feet for very long periods. The bedside cabinet that had held his few belongings had been hurriedly emptied. I searched the room but I couldn’t find him in any of the usual places. Just to be sure, I stuck my head out the window and checked the flower-beds below, but saw nothing.

I heard the sound of the infirmary’s outer door opening and the Brigadier’s loud voice. I couldn’t hear what he was saying but the answer was in a woman’s voice. I scampered out the opposite door, intent on finding the Doctor before Sarah could descend on me with her biting disapproval. Even though the Doctor had never made it very far out of the room before, I had an inkling of where to go. I went to the only place on the base that I’d seen him before he became my patient. I went back to the room where he’d first collapsed, the one with the Police Box in the corner.

Sure enough, there was the Doctor, rattling the door of the Police Box, with his coat pulled on over his hospital gown.
“There you are,” I said loudly, like an adult indulging a child who they both know has been naughty.
The Doctor jumped, looking at me with wide-eyes as if I was an oncoming train. He looked very much like a kid caught with his hand in the cookie jar and trying to think of a way to talk himself out of it.
“Come along, Doctor,” I told him. “You’re supposed to be in the sickbay.”
The Doctor took a few steps away hesitantly, thinking quickly.
“Am I?” he asked innocently. “Don’t you mean the infirmary?”

I closed the doors behind me and crossed my arms sternly.
“No, I do not mean the infirmary, I mean the sickbay,” I told him. “You’re not fit yet.”
“Not fit!” cried the Doctor disbelievingly. “I’m the Doctor!”
I took a deep breath, “No, Doctor, I’m the Dr and I say that you’re not fit.”

I walked forward and the Doctor sidled around sideways to avoid me. In truth, I was impressed that he was up and about and carrying on a conversation, albeit a childish one. Apparently, he hoped that as long as I was listening that I wouldn’t come near him. This didn’t really bother me since I was blocking the only door out of the room.
“You may be a Doctor,” he told me, grinning. “But I’m the Doctor - the definite article you might say.”
“Look here, Doctor,” I began firmly. “You’re not fit. If you…”
“Not fit? Not fit?” shouted the Doctor, drowning out my words. “Of course I’m fit, all systems go!”
He spun around and brought the edge of his palm down hard on a brick on the table. The brick snapped neatly in half, one end thudding off the table. I stepped forward, worried that he’d hurt himself.

Showing not a shadow of concern, he began jogging up and down vigorously on the spot.
“I say,” I said, quite unsure what exactly I was going to say.
I raised an uncertain hand to my head, wondering if I should check my own head for a concussion. I was still gaping like a fish when the Doctor seized the end of my stethoscope and placed it against the left side of his chest.

I hurriedly placed the other end in my ears and listened to his heartbeat for the first time. It sounded a little irregular but before I could say so, he moved the stethoscope over to the right sound of his chest. A second heartbeat sounded just out of sync with the first.
“Hearts speed?” asked the Doctor casually.
“I say,” I managed to get out. “I don’t think that can be right.”
“Both a bit fast, are they?” he asked seriously.
I stammered again, “Well, I…”
“Still, must be patient,” he said like a wise-man imparting wisdom.

He walked across the room, talking as he went.
“A new body’s like a new house,” he said. “Takes a little time to settle in.”
He caught sight of himself in a mirror and walked over to investigate. He looked at his own reflection critically while I considered the best way of calling for help without him noticing. He didn’t seem pleased with what he saw – he winced and laid his palms flat on his cheeks.
“Oh, as for the physiognomy, well… Nothing’s perfect,” decided the Doctor, adopting a philosophical tone. “Have to take the rough with the smooth. Mind you, I think the nose is a definite improvement.”
He taped his nose joyfully with a finger.

I looked around the room for a telephone. There was one on the far desk but I daren’t move from between the Doctor and the door. There was also no way I’d be able to get to it without him catching on.
“As for the ears, well, I’m not too sure,” concluded the Doctor.
He spun around to face me again and I pretended I hadn’t been looking longingly at the phone.
“Tell me quite frankly,” he said earnestly, walking up to me and pulling his ears forward so that I could see. “What do you say to the ears?”
“Well, I really don’t know…” I tried.
“Well, of course you don’t, why should you?” said the Doctor, the earnestness receding slightly to be replaced by an edge of desperation. “You’re a busy man. You don’t want to stand here burbling about my ears. Neither here nor there.”

The earnestness returned, the eyes widening even further but I knew quite perfectly what he was up to.
“I can’t waste any more time. Things to do, places to go, I’m a busy man too, you know. Thankyou for a most interesting conversation,” said the Doctor quickly.
He grabbed my hand, squeezing harder than seemed to be normal, and shaking it vigorously until my arm hurt. He grabbed my shoulder with his other hand and began steering me towards the door.
“Must be on my way…” he explained matter-of-factly.

I slipped out of his grip and pressed my back against the doors. I looked at him disapprovingly.
“There’s absolutely no question of you leaving, Doctor,” I told him.
Despite the increasingly weird situation, there was no doubt that there was something wrong with him. Even though he was more lucid than before, his behaviour was still erratic. Now, I have dealt with more than one reluctant patient over the years and I was not giving up that easily.
“Now, you go back to the infirmary – I mean the sickbay,” I said firmly, trying not to wince as I corrected myself. “Get into bed and stay there until I say you can get up.”
The Doctor looked crestfallen at my determination. He backed away, forlornly looking around the room for inspiration.
“How can I prove my point?” he asked desperately.
He slapped the remaining half of the brick to the ground when it failed to provide any answers.

He wandered over to the table and picked up a cable. He curled the ends ominously around his fists and then spun around and slapped the cable against the ground. I tried not to jump too much. The Doctor locked eyes with me and I swallowed, worried where this could lead. I had no idea what this man was capable of.
“I… I feel I ought to warn you, Doctor,” I stammered, hoping to distract him back into a conversation. “There is grave danger of myocardial infarction, not to speak of a pulmonary embolism…”
The Doctor advanced on me intently and I forced myself not to step away as he approached.
“Then don’t speak of it,” he said idly, still advancing until he stood inches away from me with the cable hanging from each fist.
“But I should…,” I objected.

The Doctor jumped over the cable and swung it over my head in an arc. I jumped to avoid being swept off my feet but the Doctor kept going. He was skipping with the cable, standing so close to me that I was forced to start skipping too or else I’d end up tripping over the cable.
“Mother, mother,” the Doctor began to chant.
The look in his eyes was wild and he was staring at me, as if in challenge.
“What on earth are you…” I tried but the Doctor only chanted louder.
“I feel sick. Call for the Doctor quick, quick, quick. Mother, dear, shall I die? Yes my Darling, by and by…”

I abandoned speech and just kept skipping absurdly, unable to think properly with the chant droning on and on. The Doctor kept eye contact, refusing to look away and smiling at my bewilderment. I hoped he wasn’t about to pass out again but somehow I didn’t think he would. I must have looked hopeful when the chant finished because the Doctor grinned wider and began to count to the same beat.
“One, two, three, four…”

Somehow he’d turned us around and was skipping us towards the opposite wall. I was moving backwards and I couldn’t see where we were going. I knew the Doctor could see, but he continued to stare at me instead. Unless the Doctor was attempting some kind of stage-show hypnosis, I was baffled as to why he wouldn’t look away. I’ve never had anything said against my face but I didn’t think it deserved the attention either.

With a clunk, my back hit a metal cabinet that was resting against the wall. The Doctor laughed at me and I knew I'd failed some sort of test.
“Well, Dr,” he said, leaning forward and crossing his arms behind his back as if he were a school-headmaster. “Now that we’ve established that I’m fit…”
I managed to find my voice again, “We have not…”
The Doctor interrupted again, leaning in close so that the tip of his large nose was less than an inch away from my own. He was tall enough to look down his nose at me as if I was some wayward child with the audacity to lecture his elders.
“Given that I’m perfectly fit,” continued the Doctor, resting both hands on either side of my head. “What possible reason could you have for wanting to keep me here?”
He looked at me slyly, waiting for a response. I opened my mouth but was too bewildered to say anything.
“I think I know,” he said conspiratorially.

He dipped his head forward abruptly and kissed me full on the lips. I tensed against him and struggled for a moment but he simply pushed his weight forward and pinned me against the cabinet. His nose knocked against mine, his curls tickling my forehead. I couldn’t move and I couldn’t call for help. Then he tilted his head and kissed me even harder. My mind raced, trying to work out what it was that this crazy man wanted from me. He already demonstrated that he could easily confound me without having to resort to such desperate measures. His strength was so far in excess of mine that he could have simply overpowered me but he hadn’t. I couldn’t see any way that this could benefit him. No benefit at all, unless he genuinely wanted to kiss me. It had been a long time since anybody (a woman or otherwise) had wanted to kiss me, let alone done so.

Hardly daring to hope, I gave in. I shut my eyes, relaxed and allowed him to kiss me. I felt his lips curve into a smile against mine. Taking it as encouragement, I hesitantly returned the kiss as best I could. The pressure pinning me to the cabinet eased a little and I felt his arms moving beside me. I registered the cabinet door opening beside me but I didn’t realise what was happening until he tripped me over backwards. I landed awkwardly at the bottom of the cabinet, my head wedged in the corner and my feet kicking in the air. Grinning unapologetically at me, the Doctor grabbed my ankles and swiftly tied them together with the cable. I flailed about helplessly, unable to find any leverage to get myself up the right way again.
“Now, wait just a minute…” I tried to protest.
The Doctor grinned at me as he tied my ankles to a railing at the top of the cabinet.
“I told you,” he said gaily. “I’m a busy man.”
He winked at me and shut the cabinet door. I heard him walk across the room and rattle the Police Box door again.

I hung there, upside down in the dark, for no more than five minutes but it was quite long enough to decide that this was one of the most embarrassing moments of my life.

THE END