Doctor Who Oneshots

TenRose- Saving

Rose laughed. "Chips?"

"Yep."

"Then as far as I'm concerned, they're the best race in that galaxy. Not to play favorites..." Rose joked.

"You do love your fried potato slices, don't you? Sometimes I think that the human race revolves around it." The Doctor stood and walked to another screen in the room and began to type again.

Rose was about to object, but suddenly she felt a pang in her forehead, almost like the sudden jolt of a brain freeze from a cold treat, but worse. She groaned quietly and put her hand to her head. Feeling disoriented from the ache, she staggered to a chair to sit down, her face contorted slightly to try to calm the throbbing pain.

"What's wrong?" The Doctor turned to her only slightly, still transfixed by his work.

"Just a bit of a... headache. I think," Rose stuttered, her hand still at her head.

"Probably the cold, and the different oxygen levels. You'll be okay. Just tell me if it gets worse," the Doctor said.

Rose said nothing, because the headache had grown so intense that any movement sent a throb of more pain to her head. This was a problem because she was still very cold, and needed to reach a sheet of some sort she had spotted in the chair opposite her. Rose tried to slowly, carefully reach over to grab it, but she wasn't careful enough. The most intense pang throbbed in her brain, causing her to fall from her chair and cry out.

The Doctor heard her fall and he was quick to rush to her. "Are you okay? Is it still the headache?"

Rose, her hands and the rest of her body shaking, weak from the pain, pointed to her head slowly and tried to nod. Tears were now streaming out of her eyes, and she breathed shaky breaths.

The Doctor gently lifted her up to the chair again, sitting her in it as she clutched her head with her eyes shut. He took off his own jacket and put it on her, then saw the blanket and quickly wrapped it around her.

"How could you get a headache that fast?" The Doctor asked quietly, as if talking to himself. "I mean, the cold must have something to do with it, but what else?" He scanned her with his sonic screwdriver, then flicked it up to read it. "You were perfectly healthy before, and I can't see anything else going on now, at least not from the scan..."

He looked around the room. Questions were buzzing through his head: questions from how the creatures on this ship died to how Rose got so ill so quickly--

"Ah," the Doctor whispered. Then he panicked, something he usually didn't of when it came it an alien situation. But his Rose was in danger.

First, he had to make sure Rose was stable. Not healthy, obviously, but at a stable enough health that he could leave her for a minute to figure out what had happened to the Jardragoonians. The solution to that problem would lead him to the solution to Rose's problem.

He rushed to the computer to scan his recent findings. "So they always kept the ship at a constant warm temperature: 205.7 fuînts-- about 20 degrees Celsius for Rose." He muttered the facts to himself, for it often helped him solve things quicker to think aloud. "Usual oxygen percentage: about 21 percent, like Earth's. . ." He checked the last temperature average and the last oxygen percentage average per week in the ship's virtual log. "But before they died... It was about -10 degrees Celsius, with..." The Doctor gasped. "54% Harchronian?!" The Doctor knew that: "That would kill them all in less than twenty minutes! They wouldn't see it coming!" He looked over to Rose, who now pressed both of her hands to her head, and was shivering violently. He felt a familiar pang in his heart.