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eponymous_roseTitle: Argumentum Ad Metam (2/6)
Author:![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
eponymous_rose
Word Count: 2919
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Mystery, Adventure
Spoilers: Set between Terror of the Autons and The Mind of Evil.
Characters: Third Doctor, Jo Grant, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, UNIT
Previous Chapters
Summary: When a warehouse burns to the ground for no apparent reason - and the only living witness claims to have seen fire-breathing demons - the Doctor and Jo become embroiled in a deadly confrontation against an opponent who knows them only too well.
CHAPTER 2
"Miss Grant," said a voice, and Jo blinked.
"She's coming round," said somebody else, and she had a ridiculous urge to contradict him. Something was covering her mouth and nose, and she reached up automatically, only to have her hands restrained. "It's an oxygen mask. Just stay still a moment, Miss Grant, let the paramedics have a look at you."
It took her a moment to realise that her eyes were open, and she blinked again; her vision was starting to clear into a blurred mess of faces and images. She was sitting in the back of a vehicle of some sort, an ambulance, with the rear doors open. The Brigadier was the one holding her hands down, another man beside him was bandaging her arm, and behind him, there was the warehouse-
She twisted out of the Brig's grip, felt a shot of pain up her left arm, and pulled the mask away from her face. Suddenly it seemed a lot harder to breathe, and she felt the darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision again. "The Doctor's still in there," she gasped. "He's hurt-"
The paramedic matter-of-factly popped the oxygen mask back over her face, and the sterile air was cold on her mouth and nose. "Is she always like this?"
"Miss Grant," the Brigadier said, and his eyes were worried, "I haven't seen the Doctor in two days. As far as I know, he's still off on that trip to New York or wherever it was."
She stared at him, dumbstruck for a moment, then shoved the oxygen mask away again. "New York! Brigadier, he was with us! You told me to stay near him, and-" This time the paramedic was more emphatic; he kept his hand on the mask, holding it in place.
"She's having memory problems, then?" he said, returning to his work on her arm; she glanced down to see a rapidly spreading red stain marring the fresh bandages and felt lightheaded.
"Just a bit disorientated," said the Brigadier quickly. "No head injuries?"
The paramedic shook his head. "Not that I can see," he said. "I'm a bit concerned about that slice on the arm, though - and the smoke inhalation." He glanced past her, and called to the driver: "We should get her intubated."
Jo's head was spinning, throbbing, and she knew it wasn't entirely because of her injuries. The Doctor had been with her. Of course he had, for heaven's sake, he'd been the one to drive them!
"The car," she said, and her voice came out muffled against the oxygen mask. The Brigadier stared at her uncomprehendingly. "The Doctor drove us here," she said, as precisely as she could. Her throat was raw, and then she was coughing and it was all she could do to keep herself from sinking back-
"She should be in hospital," said the paramedic, but the Brigadier was frowning at her.
"Miss Grant," he said, "I drove us here. You insisted on coming along with me. We took the Doctor's car, certainly, but that was only because we were in a hurry and Captain Yates was taking the jeep."
She stared at him. "That's not-" she said, and jumped at a pinch in her good arm. The paramedic had a syringe in her hand, and she felt herself start to panic-
"It's all right," the Brigadier said, and patted her hand. "Just a sedative. You rest, Miss Grant, and we'll talk about the Doctor when you're better."
"No," she said, but even that was enough to set her coughing again. Someone was pushing her down, firmly, and she struggled as best she could; the dizziness started to spin her mind round and round again, and there was the bitter taste of adrenaline at the back of her throat, and for a moment it felt like she was once more in the building, with flames and ashes all around them, reaching out for the Doctor-
"Jo," said a voice, and she glanced up. The paramedic had her hand in his. "You're safe, Jo."
She felt her coughing fit begin to subside, heard the doors slam and then the motor was running, and the siren. The ceiling of the ambulance was a dull off-white, and it was spinning and suddenly she felt quite sick to her stomach.
"Jo," the paramedic said again, and she looked up, really looked, and the eyes were kind and familiar.
"Doctor?" she said.
Suddenly he'd snatched the mask from her face and his hand was over her mouth and nose, smothering, but she couldn't move her arms to push him away, couldn't bite or kick or scratch, and he was still smiling, gentle, benign.
"Don't fight, Jo." All at once, struggling seemed like too much bother, and Jo closed her eyes, listening to her frantic heartbeat and the whistling of the siren, both of which seemed to be slowing, to be passing further and further away.
"That's it," he said, and his voice was clear in the blurring darkness. "That's right, Jo."
Time stopped.
*~*~*
"Miss Grant," said a voice.
"She's coming round," said somebody else, and the chill of deja-vu was enough to jolt Jo fully into consciousness.
The back of her throat hurt terribly, like someone had worn it down with sandpaper and then offered her a nice drink of lemon juice.
"Here, Jo." A glass swam into her field of vision, and she snatched at it: it was full of ice.
The hand that had passed her the glass moved suddenly, settled on the side of her face, and, startled at the touch, she looked up.
She had time only to register the familiar shock of grey-white hair, the eyes dark with concern.
"No!" she said, which hurt her throat enough to galvanise her into action. She threw the glass at him, ice and all, as hard as she could, and rolled to the other side of the bed with the confused intention of escaping through the door on the other side of the small room.
It didn't quite turn out as she'd planned: she got herself tangled up in the sheets and hit the ground hard. "Jo!" His hand, cold, was on her arm. "Jo, what is it? You're safe, Jo."
She managed to extricate one arm from the blankets and, remembering her UNIT training, she slammed her elbow into him. His grip loosened, he fell back more easily than she'd expected, and she set about disentangling her legs from the sheets.
"Miss Grant!" The Brigadier crouched down in front of her. "What on earth are you doing?"
Jo turned to seek another means of escape, but the Doctor was behind her, ready to-
But- but he was just sitting on the floor, his hair dripping with the ice she'd thrown at him, rubbing his side where she'd elbowed him, looking utterly dumbfounded. "Must have been some nightmare," he said after a moment.
Jo blinked; something was wrong, something didn't fit-
And then she saw the bruise on his forehead, and the cut on his cheek, which had started bleeding again in the struggle. "You were in the building, too!" she gasped.
The Brigadier offered her a hand, and she took it without thinking, wincing as he pulled her to her feet; her left arm was bandaged just above the elbow, and as she stretched it she realized that it must have been burned. "Of course he was, Miss Grant," the Brigadier said. "You helped pull him out. Don't you remember?"
"It's plain to see that she doesn't," the Doctor said, still sitting on the floor. "Let her get her bearings, Brigadier."
Though he looked faintly miffed at being ordered about, the Brigadier released her arm and backed away as she sat down on the bed. Her head was spinning, but the adrenaline felt good, and she felt more awake than she had done in ages; the walls of the hospital room around her were soothing, and she had to smile at the flowers on the bedside table.
All in all, she was starting to feel rather foolish for having panicked over a simple nightmare.
"All right," she said hoarsely, and glanced at the Doctor as he pulled himself to his feet. "What's happened?"
The Doctor leaned against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well," he said, "the Brigadier might be better placed to answer that particular question, as I spent most of the interim unconscious."
The Brig straightened. "I still haven't heard a reasonable explanation as to why you and Miss Grant were in that building at all, Doctor."
Jo looked up, and the Doctor met her gaze, smiling. "Nor shall you, Brigadier. It seems to me it was a rather unreasonable situation in the first place."
"I remember that bit," said Jo quickly, "with the walls and the corridor that wasn't all there."
"Good," said the Doctor.
The Brigadier was about to interject, then seemed to think better of it and sighed. "Well, we heard you scream, Miss Grant, and by the time we made it around the corner, you and the Doctor were right in the middle of the rubble. We thought you must have been killed in the collapse, but there you were, shouting for help, dragging the Doctor right out of it."
Jo wasn't entirely sure what to make of the flicker of pride in the Brigadier's voice, so she glanced over to the Doctor, who was digging in his pockets. "Right," she said. "That makes sense. But in the ambulance, afterward-" She felt a little shiver, heard the echoes of sirens and her own fading heartbeat in her ears.
The Brigadier's face clouded. "The Doctor came to almost immediately, but you just collapsed. The ambulance men said it was brought on by smoke inhalation."
"Oh," said Jo, when it became clear that he wasn't about to say any more on the subject. She looked to the Doctor again, but he still wouldn't meet her gaze, pressing a handkerchief to the reopened cut on his cheek. All right, then; if they'd only give her half the story, she'd have to piece together the rest.
"You only suffered some burns and that gash on your arm," the Brigadier resumed, awkwardly. "They'd like to keep you in for observation, though. Just until tomorrow morning."
"How long have I-"
"Just over a day," the Doctor said, his tone light. "You've slept through the better part of your Saturday, Jo."
"Well, that just figures," Jo said, pulling a face.
"Look," said the Brigadier, "I'll give you two a chance to get your stories straight; Sergeant Benton's just on the next floor."
Jo straightened. "Is he-"
"He's fine, Jo," said the Doctor. "Burned his leg and took a knock on the head, but he's recovering well."
Jo couldn't suppress a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Tell him I said hello."
The Brigadier turned to leave, then paused at the door and cleared his throat. "Captain Yates asked me to tell you the flowers were from him," he said, without turning around. "He's rather tied up with paperwork at the moment."
Jo smiled. "All right," she said. "Thanks, Brigadier."
He closed the door behind him, and for a moment the room was silent. Jo swung her legs up onto the bed and pulled the blankets after her; she was starting to get rather tired, now that all the excitement had worn off.
"How's your throat?" asked the Doctor.
"A lot better," Jo said. "Listen, Doctor, I'm terribly sorry-"
"Think nothing of it, Jo." He stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and perched on the side of her bed; she had to keep herself from flinching away at his sudden proximity. "I shouldn't have startled you like that," he said, but his eyes were wary.
"Look, Doctor," Jo said, "what's this all about? You and the Brigadier aren't telling me something."
The Doctor rubbed his neck again. "I could say the same of you, Jo. What scared you so much?"
She shrugged, uncomfortable. "It's just a silly nightmare, Doctor."
He didn't pursue the issue. "The trouble, Jo-" He paused, and she realised with a start that he was nervous. "The trouble with what happened in the ambulance is that nobody quite seems to remember what happened in the ambulance."
Jo froze. "What do you mean?"
"Well," said the Doctor, watching her as though expecting - what? "The Brigadier seems quite convinced that at some point there was a panic over a mislabelled syringe; you had a bad reaction and your heart stopped in transit."
Jo felt the colour drain from her face, and the Doctor glanced away, giving her time to compose herself. "But I talked to the ambulance drivers," he said. "Nothing of the sort actually happened."
She swallowed hard. "And what do you remember?"
He said nothing, looked down at his hands. She felt a chill and drew the scratchy blankets up to her chin.
"Sorry, Jo," he said. "I'm keeping you up."
At his words, she yawned in spite of herself. Smiling, he stood as though to leave, and she snatched at his sleeve. "Doctor," she said, "In my- in my dream the Brigadier said that you weren't there, that you weren't in the building with me, that you were-"
"In New York," said the Doctor. "Yes, I know."
Jo gaped at him. "But how could you possibly-"
He hesitated, then reached out a hand and brushed her hair from her forehead; she couldn't help shying away from his touch. "I'm sorry you got wrapped up in all this, Jo," he said. "It's rather a difficult situation, and I expect it will only get worse."
She stared up at him for a long moment, waiting for the twinges of fear to recede. "Doctor," she said, "it wasn't a nightmare, was it?"
He snatched his hand back, looked away. "I'm not sure what it was, Jo," he said. "Some sort of-of projection, maybe. A shared hallucination."
"But you've got an idea how to stop it, haven't you? And whatever it is, you've decided you're going to figure it out alone." He didn't answer her, and Jo rolled her eyes. "Really, Doctor, I'm not dim - I know it's something unusual. And I know it's related to that- to that strange little corridor in the warehouse." She smiled. "After all, I was attacked by a plastic daffodil! I expect my mind's a bit more open than most."
The Doctor glanced back at her, and she had the unpleasant feeling that he was judging her, categorising her responses, discovering all her worries and fears at a glance. She was determined not to show him how shaken she was, or how tired, and she met his gaze steadily.
"I am your assistant, after all," she added.
Unexpectedly, he broke into a broad grin. "All right, Jo," he said. "I could use a bit of a rest, myself - we'll reconvene in the morning, and maybe then we'll go speak to Miss Hallborough." At her quizzical glance, he added: "The survivor of the fire."
"All right," said Jo, and she felt a little shiver of apprehension at not having recognised the name. How many times had she called that warehouse, how many times had she spoken to the woman? She'd never even bothered asking her name.
The Doctor paused at the door and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I've seen things like this before, Jo," he said.
"You have?"
"Something similar, anyway." He leaned against the doorway. "It's a sort of Altardullian party trick. Simple hypnosis on a much grander scale. By remote-control, nearly."
"That doesn't explain the corridor in the warehouse," Jo pointed out. "I mean, we might have both thought we saw a safe passage, but there's no way we would have been able to get that far into the building without getting hurt, or burned, or something."
"Right," said the Doctor. "That's very true, Jo, and I think you've just put your finger on it."
She blinked. "I have?"
"The corridor is the strange part of all this," he said, "but I think we'll find out more about that tomorrow."
"I imagine we will," said Jo, and despite her misgivings she felt a little rush of excitement; to think only yesterday she'd been complaining to Mike about all the boring tasks the Doctor set her!
He paused at the door again. "Goodnight, Jo," he said. "Sleep well."
"Goodnight, Doctor," she said, and pulled the blankets up as he switched off the lights. Her throat still burned a bit, and her arm had taken up a dull, persistent throb, but she didn't imagine she'd have much trouble sleeping-
"Oh," she said. "Doctor?"
He paused in the act of closing the door behind him. "What is it, Jo?"
"Do you-" She winced. "Do you think you could ask them to bring me another glass of ice?"
"Do you think you might refrain from throwing it in my face this time?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"I'll do my best," she said solemnly.
"And that's all I could possibly ask," he said, grinning in the light from the hallway. "All right, Jo, I'll bring it right back."
She meant to stay awake until he came back, really she did, but the room was pleasantly warm and the promise of a new day, of a new job to do, was enough to set her well on her way to a deep, dreamless sleep.
Author:
eponymous_roseWord Count: 2919
Rating: PG-13
Genre: Mystery, Adventure
Spoilers: Set between Terror of the Autons and The Mind of Evil.
Characters: Third Doctor, Jo Grant, Brigadier Lethbridge-Stewart, UNIT
Previous Chapters
Summary: When a warehouse burns to the ground for no apparent reason - and the only living witness claims to have seen fire-breathing demons - the Doctor and Jo become embroiled in a deadly confrontation against an opponent who knows them only too well.
CHAPTER 2
"Miss Grant," said a voice, and Jo blinked.
"She's coming round," said somebody else, and she had a ridiculous urge to contradict him. Something was covering her mouth and nose, and she reached up automatically, only to have her hands restrained. "It's an oxygen mask. Just stay still a moment, Miss Grant, let the paramedics have a look at you."
It took her a moment to realise that her eyes were open, and she blinked again; her vision was starting to clear into a blurred mess of faces and images. She was sitting in the back of a vehicle of some sort, an ambulance, with the rear doors open. The Brigadier was the one holding her hands down, another man beside him was bandaging her arm, and behind him, there was the warehouse-
She twisted out of the Brig's grip, felt a shot of pain up her left arm, and pulled the mask away from her face. Suddenly it seemed a lot harder to breathe, and she felt the darkness creeping in at the edges of her vision again. "The Doctor's still in there," she gasped. "He's hurt-"
The paramedic matter-of-factly popped the oxygen mask back over her face, and the sterile air was cold on her mouth and nose. "Is she always like this?"
"Miss Grant," the Brigadier said, and his eyes were worried, "I haven't seen the Doctor in two days. As far as I know, he's still off on that trip to New York or wherever it was."
She stared at him, dumbstruck for a moment, then shoved the oxygen mask away again. "New York! Brigadier, he was with us! You told me to stay near him, and-" This time the paramedic was more emphatic; he kept his hand on the mask, holding it in place.
"She's having memory problems, then?" he said, returning to his work on her arm; she glanced down to see a rapidly spreading red stain marring the fresh bandages and felt lightheaded.
"Just a bit disorientated," said the Brigadier quickly. "No head injuries?"
The paramedic shook his head. "Not that I can see," he said. "I'm a bit concerned about that slice on the arm, though - and the smoke inhalation." He glanced past her, and called to the driver: "We should get her intubated."
Jo's head was spinning, throbbing, and she knew it wasn't entirely because of her injuries. The Doctor had been with her. Of course he had, for heaven's sake, he'd been the one to drive them!
"The car," she said, and her voice came out muffled against the oxygen mask. The Brigadier stared at her uncomprehendingly. "The Doctor drove us here," she said, as precisely as she could. Her throat was raw, and then she was coughing and it was all she could do to keep herself from sinking back-
"She should be in hospital," said the paramedic, but the Brigadier was frowning at her.
"Miss Grant," he said, "I drove us here. You insisted on coming along with me. We took the Doctor's car, certainly, but that was only because we were in a hurry and Captain Yates was taking the jeep."
She stared at him. "That's not-" she said, and jumped at a pinch in her good arm. The paramedic had a syringe in her hand, and she felt herself start to panic-
"It's all right," the Brigadier said, and patted her hand. "Just a sedative. You rest, Miss Grant, and we'll talk about the Doctor when you're better."
"No," she said, but even that was enough to set her coughing again. Someone was pushing her down, firmly, and she struggled as best she could; the dizziness started to spin her mind round and round again, and there was the bitter taste of adrenaline at the back of her throat, and for a moment it felt like she was once more in the building, with flames and ashes all around them, reaching out for the Doctor-
"Jo," said a voice, and she glanced up. The paramedic had her hand in his. "You're safe, Jo."
She felt her coughing fit begin to subside, heard the doors slam and then the motor was running, and the siren. The ceiling of the ambulance was a dull off-white, and it was spinning and suddenly she felt quite sick to her stomach.
"Jo," the paramedic said again, and she looked up, really looked, and the eyes were kind and familiar.
"Doctor?" she said.
Suddenly he'd snatched the mask from her face and his hand was over her mouth and nose, smothering, but she couldn't move her arms to push him away, couldn't bite or kick or scratch, and he was still smiling, gentle, benign.
"Don't fight, Jo." All at once, struggling seemed like too much bother, and Jo closed her eyes, listening to her frantic heartbeat and the whistling of the siren, both of which seemed to be slowing, to be passing further and further away.
"That's it," he said, and his voice was clear in the blurring darkness. "That's right, Jo."
Time stopped.
*~*~*
"Miss Grant," said a voice.
"She's coming round," said somebody else, and the chill of deja-vu was enough to jolt Jo fully into consciousness.
The back of her throat hurt terribly, like someone had worn it down with sandpaper and then offered her a nice drink of lemon juice.
"Here, Jo." A glass swam into her field of vision, and she snatched at it: it was full of ice.
The hand that had passed her the glass moved suddenly, settled on the side of her face, and, startled at the touch, she looked up.
She had time only to register the familiar shock of grey-white hair, the eyes dark with concern.
"No!" she said, which hurt her throat enough to galvanise her into action. She threw the glass at him, ice and all, as hard as she could, and rolled to the other side of the bed with the confused intention of escaping through the door on the other side of the small room.
It didn't quite turn out as she'd planned: she got herself tangled up in the sheets and hit the ground hard. "Jo!" His hand, cold, was on her arm. "Jo, what is it? You're safe, Jo."
She managed to extricate one arm from the blankets and, remembering her UNIT training, she slammed her elbow into him. His grip loosened, he fell back more easily than she'd expected, and she set about disentangling her legs from the sheets.
"Miss Grant!" The Brigadier crouched down in front of her. "What on earth are you doing?"
Jo turned to seek another means of escape, but the Doctor was behind her, ready to-
But- but he was just sitting on the floor, his hair dripping with the ice she'd thrown at him, rubbing his side where she'd elbowed him, looking utterly dumbfounded. "Must have been some nightmare," he said after a moment.
Jo blinked; something was wrong, something didn't fit-
And then she saw the bruise on his forehead, and the cut on his cheek, which had started bleeding again in the struggle. "You were in the building, too!" she gasped.
The Brigadier offered her a hand, and she took it without thinking, wincing as he pulled her to her feet; her left arm was bandaged just above the elbow, and as she stretched it she realized that it must have been burned. "Of course he was, Miss Grant," the Brigadier said. "You helped pull him out. Don't you remember?"
"It's plain to see that she doesn't," the Doctor said, still sitting on the floor. "Let her get her bearings, Brigadier."
Though he looked faintly miffed at being ordered about, the Brigadier released her arm and backed away as she sat down on the bed. Her head was spinning, but the adrenaline felt good, and she felt more awake than she had done in ages; the walls of the hospital room around her were soothing, and she had to smile at the flowers on the bedside table.
All in all, she was starting to feel rather foolish for having panicked over a simple nightmare.
"All right," she said hoarsely, and glanced at the Doctor as he pulled himself to his feet. "What's happened?"
The Doctor leaned against the wall, rubbing the back of his neck. "Well," he said, "the Brigadier might be better placed to answer that particular question, as I spent most of the interim unconscious."
The Brig straightened. "I still haven't heard a reasonable explanation as to why you and Miss Grant were in that building at all, Doctor."
Jo looked up, and the Doctor met her gaze, smiling. "Nor shall you, Brigadier. It seems to me it was a rather unreasonable situation in the first place."
"I remember that bit," said Jo quickly, "with the walls and the corridor that wasn't all there."
"Good," said the Doctor.
The Brigadier was about to interject, then seemed to think better of it and sighed. "Well, we heard you scream, Miss Grant, and by the time we made it around the corner, you and the Doctor were right in the middle of the rubble. We thought you must have been killed in the collapse, but there you were, shouting for help, dragging the Doctor right out of it."
Jo wasn't entirely sure what to make of the flicker of pride in the Brigadier's voice, so she glanced over to the Doctor, who was digging in his pockets. "Right," she said. "That makes sense. But in the ambulance, afterward-" She felt a little shiver, heard the echoes of sirens and her own fading heartbeat in her ears.
The Brigadier's face clouded. "The Doctor came to almost immediately, but you just collapsed. The ambulance men said it was brought on by smoke inhalation."
"Oh," said Jo, when it became clear that he wasn't about to say any more on the subject. She looked to the Doctor again, but he still wouldn't meet her gaze, pressing a handkerchief to the reopened cut on his cheek. All right, then; if they'd only give her half the story, she'd have to piece together the rest.
"You only suffered some burns and that gash on your arm," the Brigadier resumed, awkwardly. "They'd like to keep you in for observation, though. Just until tomorrow morning."
"How long have I-"
"Just over a day," the Doctor said, his tone light. "You've slept through the better part of your Saturday, Jo."
"Well, that just figures," Jo said, pulling a face.
"Look," said the Brigadier, "I'll give you two a chance to get your stories straight; Sergeant Benton's just on the next floor."
Jo straightened. "Is he-"
"He's fine, Jo," said the Doctor. "Burned his leg and took a knock on the head, but he's recovering well."
Jo couldn't suppress a sigh of relief. "Oh, good. Tell him I said hello."
The Brigadier turned to leave, then paused at the door and cleared his throat. "Captain Yates asked me to tell you the flowers were from him," he said, without turning around. "He's rather tied up with paperwork at the moment."
Jo smiled. "All right," she said. "Thanks, Brigadier."
He closed the door behind him, and for a moment the room was silent. Jo swung her legs up onto the bed and pulled the blankets after her; she was starting to get rather tired, now that all the excitement had worn off.
"How's your throat?" asked the Doctor.
"A lot better," Jo said. "Listen, Doctor, I'm terribly sorry-"
"Think nothing of it, Jo." He stuffed his handkerchief back into his pocket and perched on the side of her bed; she had to keep herself from flinching away at his sudden proximity. "I shouldn't have startled you like that," he said, but his eyes were wary.
"Look, Doctor," Jo said, "what's this all about? You and the Brigadier aren't telling me something."
The Doctor rubbed his neck again. "I could say the same of you, Jo. What scared you so much?"
She shrugged, uncomfortable. "It's just a silly nightmare, Doctor."
He didn't pursue the issue. "The trouble, Jo-" He paused, and she realised with a start that he was nervous. "The trouble with what happened in the ambulance is that nobody quite seems to remember what happened in the ambulance."
Jo froze. "What do you mean?"
"Well," said the Doctor, watching her as though expecting - what? "The Brigadier seems quite convinced that at some point there was a panic over a mislabelled syringe; you had a bad reaction and your heart stopped in transit."
Jo felt the colour drain from her face, and the Doctor glanced away, giving her time to compose herself. "But I talked to the ambulance drivers," he said. "Nothing of the sort actually happened."
She swallowed hard. "And what do you remember?"
He said nothing, looked down at his hands. She felt a chill and drew the scratchy blankets up to her chin.
"Sorry, Jo," he said. "I'm keeping you up."
At his words, she yawned in spite of herself. Smiling, he stood as though to leave, and she snatched at his sleeve. "Doctor," she said, "In my- in my dream the Brigadier said that you weren't there, that you weren't in the building with me, that you were-"
"In New York," said the Doctor. "Yes, I know."
Jo gaped at him. "But how could you possibly-"
He hesitated, then reached out a hand and brushed her hair from her forehead; she couldn't help shying away from his touch. "I'm sorry you got wrapped up in all this, Jo," he said. "It's rather a difficult situation, and I expect it will only get worse."
She stared up at him for a long moment, waiting for the twinges of fear to recede. "Doctor," she said, "it wasn't a nightmare, was it?"
He snatched his hand back, looked away. "I'm not sure what it was, Jo," he said. "Some sort of-of projection, maybe. A shared hallucination."
"But you've got an idea how to stop it, haven't you? And whatever it is, you've decided you're going to figure it out alone." He didn't answer her, and Jo rolled her eyes. "Really, Doctor, I'm not dim - I know it's something unusual. And I know it's related to that- to that strange little corridor in the warehouse." She smiled. "After all, I was attacked by a plastic daffodil! I expect my mind's a bit more open than most."
The Doctor glanced back at her, and she had the unpleasant feeling that he was judging her, categorising her responses, discovering all her worries and fears at a glance. She was determined not to show him how shaken she was, or how tired, and she met his gaze steadily.
"I am your assistant, after all," she added.
Unexpectedly, he broke into a broad grin. "All right, Jo," he said. "I could use a bit of a rest, myself - we'll reconvene in the morning, and maybe then we'll go speak to Miss Hallborough." At her quizzical glance, he added: "The survivor of the fire."
"All right," said Jo, and she felt a little shiver of apprehension at not having recognised the name. How many times had she called that warehouse, how many times had she spoken to the woman? She'd never even bothered asking her name.
The Doctor paused at the door and shoved his hands into his pockets. "I've seen things like this before, Jo," he said.
"You have?"
"Something similar, anyway." He leaned against the doorway. "It's a sort of Altardullian party trick. Simple hypnosis on a much grander scale. By remote-control, nearly."
"That doesn't explain the corridor in the warehouse," Jo pointed out. "I mean, we might have both thought we saw a safe passage, but there's no way we would have been able to get that far into the building without getting hurt, or burned, or something."
"Right," said the Doctor. "That's very true, Jo, and I think you've just put your finger on it."
She blinked. "I have?"
"The corridor is the strange part of all this," he said, "but I think we'll find out more about that tomorrow."
"I imagine we will," said Jo, and despite her misgivings she felt a little rush of excitement; to think only yesterday she'd been complaining to Mike about all the boring tasks the Doctor set her!
He paused at the door again. "Goodnight, Jo," he said. "Sleep well."
"Goodnight, Doctor," she said, and pulled the blankets up as he switched off the lights. Her throat still burned a bit, and her arm had taken up a dull, persistent throb, but she didn't imagine she'd have much trouble sleeping-
"Oh," she said. "Doctor?"
He paused in the act of closing the door behind him. "What is it, Jo?"
"Do you-" She winced. "Do you think you could ask them to bring me another glass of ice?"
"Do you think you might refrain from throwing it in my face this time?" he asked, crossing his arms.
"I'll do my best," she said solemnly.
"And that's all I could possibly ask," he said, grinning in the light from the hallway. "All right, Jo, I'll bring it right back."
She meant to stay awake until he came back, really she did, but the room was pleasantly warm and the promise of a new day, of a new job to do, was enough to set her well on her way to a deep, dreamless sleep.
