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"I'm all right," Sarah says, her eyes fluttering as she tries to cope with light again.
"If you say so, ol- Sarah, I mean." Harry's heart is hurting just to look at her, the way she stares at the sun as though she never expected to see again. Three and a half days of pure darkness would be rough on anybody. "Anything else I should know? Medically, I mean."
"No. No, I think the Sontaran was trying to see if I'd break down without light." Her breathing is rapid, almost harsh, but understandably triumphant. "But I didn't, Harry. I lasted."
Back home he'd arrange for a trained psychiatrist and a light box and a nurse to talk with her, just to let her revel in freedom again. As it is now, all he can do is squeeze her hand. "We've got to go save the Doctor now. He's probably in a bad way too."
"What did happen? After the sword fight- I know, I should remember, but it's all fuzzy in my mind."
"Shock, natural side effect of concussion. Don't worry about it," Harry says reassuringly. He can worry about it for her; there's no point her fussing about possible long term injuries when he has no better diagnostic equipment than an old stethoscope and thermometer. "The Doctor was bundled into a force field cage like yours. I just stopped to look you out first."
"Which way?" Sarah's voice trembles on the verge of a shriek.
'Well, over there-"
And that's all it takes to send her off and running, heedless of the uneven turf or treacherous stones.
Ah well. Perhaps it's not the worst therapy for her.
*****
It's a relief to catch up and find the Doctor talking to Sarah; at least he's conscious. It's less of a relief to see him horizontal, leaning against a pile of blood-stained scarf.
"How's the sword wound?" Harry asks. Even for a Time Lord, a stab through the heart can't be any joke.
The Doctor pulls a face. "A close run thing, but I'll pull through. I absolutely refuse to lose this regeneration so soon."
"How do we let him out?" Sarah asks, almost crying.
"Shhh- it's all right. I just press this odd gizmo like this- like that," Harry finishes dryly and unnecessarily. Sarah has already flung herself down on the soft grass.
"Are you still bleeding? What happened? Are you all right?"
"You first," the Doctor retorts. "Harry, are the two of you all right?"
"Oh, I'm fit as a fiddle, and Sarah's fine physically. Locked up with no light." Harry holds his hand out, to help the Doctor up.
It doesn't work; he just collapses back again.
"Doctor!"
Eyes unfocused, pallor, shallow breathing, known internal injuries. Damn it, next time he's not leaving UNIT HQ without a full medical kit. "How was Styre torturing you?"
"Oh, hardly anything worth mentioning. Just left me to my own devices this whole time, I think he was curious to see how long I'd take dying." He's not putting up any resistance to Harry's rudimentary examination, which cannot be a good sign. A terrible patient is at least an energetic one.
"One heart still out."
"I hardly needed you to tell me that."
Harry chooses to ignore that. "I saved some water from that spacecrew's supplies. Sarah and I are all right, you'd better drink it." Styre apparently hadn't wanted to confuse his experiments with the wrong cause of death, which is something of a blessing.
The Doctor gulps it down, almost greedily. "That's better than licking dew. I could do with some lunch."
"Er. I finished off the food last night."
"...that may be a problem. Because I need to be at the teleport reception point to get us back to Nerva, and I'm not presently capable of walking that far."
"Can we carry him, maybe?" Sarah's looking to him for a solution for once, a sensation Harry can't find himself enjoying.
"Maybe." No. If he tries lugging a whole Time Lord three miles it'll just end with him collapsing as well, that won't help. "What if you leaned on me, could you manage that way?"
The Doctor closes his eyes. "Harry. I'm trying to regenerate a heart back together and I haven't eaten in four days, I'm starved."
Harry looks desperately around at the inhospitable slope and unsympathetic grass. There's nothing for miles and miles except the three of them-
that's an idea. A terrible idea, but an idea. "Can you metabolise blood?"
The Doctor's familiar boggled expression is a trifle more alarmed than usual. "I'm not sure. There's still a lot of things in the universe I haven't tried yet."
"Then it's worth trying," Harry says, removing a scalpel from his pocket.
"Hold it," Sarah interrupts. "It ought to be me. At least I've had breakfast today, I'm in better shape then either of you are."
"I suppose I can't argue with that feminine logic," Harry says reluctantly.
"What's femininity got to do with it? I'm only being practical."
"You honestly think I'll agree to blood sucking my own companion like some prehistoric vampire?" the Doctor asks, sounding rather offended.
"Make it to the teleport under your own steam and you won't have to," Harry says, hoping very much it won't come to that.
Glaring daggers at him, the Time Lord forces himself to his feet, starts impetuously downhill with his nose in the air. Harry slips a hand under his coat, to provide support.
They make it about fifty yards before the Doctor's spurt of energy gives out. At least there's a scarf to hold so he goes down easy.
"I think you'll have to," Harry says quietly to Sarah. "Want an aspirin first?"
"Oh, no! After, not before. It'd kill him."
Harry silently swears at himself for what he doesn't know as a physician. "Wrist, I think. It'll bleed fast and bandage well."
"Not the neck?" Her face is pale, but there's a hint of amusement.
"Of course not. All sorts of important veins in there."
The Doctor makes a rather indistinct noise, clearly unhappy.
"Don't talk with your mouth full," Sarah says cheerily.
Harry starts to fumble for a makeshift tourniquet before realising that would be counterproductive. Still. He'll need the hanky to bandage her up after.
There's a long moment as he takes her hand again. "If you trust me- I think you'll have to if we're doing this- I'll hold your hand all through. It's all right to scream."
She does.
As quick an incision as he can manage is still no picnic; and she's half-sobbing as the dark rich blood starts pouring out. The Doctor's eyes are shut tight but he obediently holds his mouth in position, accepting. A little colour starts to come back to him as the seconds trickle by.
Sarah was right after all, the medical part of his mind knows, even while his sense of chivalry aches. She could hardly be expected to know how long it would take to lose a pint this way; he's guessing himself, but at least it's a guess based on experience.
"I think that's enough. Doctor, are you doing any better."
"...probably." He sounds terribly tired, older somehow. "Shall we go?"
At least he manages to stand up while Harry tends to Sarah- she's whimpering, but every time he tries to catch her eye all he gets is a glare. She dry swallows the aspirin and holds on to him for support.
Forcing someone who's just lost quite a lot of blood to take a mountain hike runs against all his professional instincts, but leaving her is unthinkable. "You're a brick, old girl."
Doesn't even get a rise out of her. She just smiles wanly.
"Sarah...thank you." The Doctor's voice is husky. There's a blood stain across his cheek.
"...you idiots," Sarah mumbles. "Let's go."
This time they don't stop at fifty yards but keep going, and Harry's heart rises past relief to something very much like hysteria. Life pushing back death, everything imprinting on his senses with sudden vivacity. Wind whipping across his face. The scent of heather not far away. Two soft hands clutched tightly in his own.
"Is that your stomach growling? I'm sure I've got a little more blood if you can get this bandage off me."
"I should take you up on that, just for whetting my appetite like this."
Harry would bury his face in his hands, but neither of his partners will let go; and perhaps that's just as well.
*****
"I declare," Sarah says, some time later. "Harry's fainted."
"Natural reaction to realising we're going to be all right," the Doctor says, pressing his sonic against the last teleport control. "He'll be fine, don't you worry. Put my scarf under his head, will you?"
She tucks it under him, tenderly. The poor dear looks like he needs it.