Title: Detox
Set: The Unicorn and the Wasp
Summary: What if detox isn't really all that easy?
A/N: Yay, my first Doctor Who fic! I'm a pretty big fan of the new series, since the old one finished a while before I was even born. I've literally started about 15 unfinished Doctor Who fics, all oneshots, but finally finished one :) Definitely for DoctorWhump fans, since I'm a very big one myself. I dunno what it is, but David Tennant has the best puppy dog eyes I've ever seen...

Now, about Medical Inaccuracies. I'm 15, not 30. I'm in high school, not med school. Obviously, I don't know much about that sort of stuff so don't give me the whole "the medical innacuracies completely took me out of the story" crap, okay? Sorry, just wanted to get that out of my system.

p.s. I may do a re-write in the future.

Read on and don't forget to review!

"No," The single word was enough to signify something wrong, and Donna's smile gradually faded as she faced the timelord, "something is inhibiting my enzymes..."

What was that supposed to mean? For once why couldn't the spaceman speak in plain English? They could be racing through corridors, being chased by large marshmallow men with venomous chocolate spit, and still the Doctor would feel unintelligible words would suffice the occasion.

She was just about to remark on this very fact when it happened; the Doctor did something very odd, very worrying. He let out a sudden, strangled yelp of pain, abruptly cringing with an agonised grimace. Immediately, she and Agatha leapt up from their chairs, rushing to his side as he hunched over, his hands grasping tightly at the armrests.

"I've been poisoned!" He choked out, heaving a laborious, lungful of air.

Donna flapped her hands in panic, flustering uselessly as Agatha reached for his drink, sniffing the beige liquid curiously. Donna watched painstakingly as the writer's expression grew to that of alarm.

"Cyanide." She exclaimed in disbelief, "Sparkling cyanide."

"What do we do?" Donna cried, hysteria forcing her voice to rise an octave... or two, "What do we do?"

She looked back at the Doctor, who huffed and puffed furiously, his unruly hair bobbing with his efforts.

"I'm an expert in poisons!" Agatha started, audibly failing to restrain her own panic, "Doctor, there is no cure; it's fatal."

"Not for me." the Doctor grunted through the panting, "different physiology... s-stronger."

He groaned loudly, throwing his head back as his chest heaved frantically. Donna seized his hand, clutching it tightly as she placed her other on his arm. He squeezed back, scrunching his eyes shut as he continued to pant.

"Doctor, what do we do?" Agatha asked calmly, composing what miniscule shrapnel of composure she had left.

"J-just...Oh Rassilon." the Doctor cried out as his back bucked, clutching at his chest with one hand while the other increased its bone-crunching pressure on Donna's hand.

She dimly heard the door fly open with a crack, but forced herself to ignore it- whoever it was, they stayed in the doorway; no doubt too shocked to move.

"M-my...myocardial infarction." The timelord gasped between clenched teeth, cracking his eyes open far enough to fix Donna with a glassy gaze, "Get...argh...get the," he groaned again as his grip tightened further, "get the... s-"

He broke off again, surging forward from the chair and landing on all fours. Donna and Agatha jumped back in surprise as he began hacking up blood, his shoulders shaking; the vile, crimson liquid spurted from his mouth, dripping from his chin as he spewed more and more

"Donna!" He practically screamed, but immediately retched further. The heaving was this time punctuated by gasps from the doorway.

"I'm here!" She reassured him, continuing to rub his back, before pressing a hand to his clammy forehead. Clammy? Was he supposed to be clammy? She'd listened through a babbling talk on how timelords had cooler body temperatures than humans, but even this was taking it to an extreme.

"The-the screwdriver!" He gasped, gulping convulsively as he panted, "S-setting thirty seven... W-when... when I- urgh." he groaned horribly, almost falling into the bloody mess on the floor.

Donna caught him, winding one arm around his back and stomach, while her other hand gripped his shoulder. Carefully, she pulled him back so that he lay against her chest, his head flopping limply back onto her shoulder.

"Sh-shock..." He gasped desperately, shuddering against her, "Thirty... seven... Donna..."

And suddenly he went still. The gasping pants continued on yet the Doctor lost consciousness, leaving both Donna and Agatha to stare at his motionless body.

"Quickly, lay him on the floor!" Agatha ordered urgently.

Donna felt hot tears spring to her eyes as she hurriedly moved from behind the timelord, laying him flat on the floor. Agatha pressed her fingers against his neck; slick with the same red liquid he'd been so violently throwing up merely moments before. Simultaneously, Donna placed both hands on the Doctor's chest, one on each side, and found no beats, not a whisper nor flicker.

And yet he still breathed deep, gasping, laboured breaths that shook his chest with powerful heaves, intertwined with rasping moans. Every few seconds his arms and legs twitched, as his muscles jerked involuntary. It was familiar, very familiar... Where had she seen it before? Think, Donna, THINK!

"Cardiac arrest!" Donna exclaimed, lacing her hands together and positioning them over one heart, "Seen it on Holby City!"

Taking a deep, calming breath she began pumping his chest, rhythmically pressing against his heart. -13, 14, 15. She moved her hands to the other side of his chest and proceeded to pump his second heart.

"The Doctor said something about a screwdriver." Agatha's brain was working just as furiously as hers, "Where would it be?"

"His pocket." Donna huffed, noting with alarm that the Doctor's ragged breaths had now become shallow and irregular.

As Agatha searched frantically through the Doctor's pockets, Donna tilted the timelord's head back, quickly opening his mouth. His chin was slippery with blood, but she held it nevertheless, covering his nose with her other hand as she pressed her lips to his and breathed for him. A metallic taste instantly filled her mouth, forcing her taste buds to protest, but whatever previous squeamish hate she may have possessed was pushed away with her worry.

She continued breathing for him, forcing air into his lungs and ignoring the blood in her mouth. She moved back to his hearts, pumping each another fifteen times before breathing for him again. From her peripheral vision she could see Agatha find the sonic screwdriver, scouring it in an attempt to figure its mechanics.

"Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven. Thirty-seven." The writer muttered repeatedly to herself, her hands gracefully twisting the sonic screwdriver in what seemed a random pattern. In fact it may have indeed been random, but she nevertheless found what she was looking for.

"I have it!" She exclaimed triumphantly, moving closer to the Doctor's side as Donna wiped a hand over her mouth; the blood painted the back of her hand like some kind of grotesque, abstract decoration, "Now, a shock. I'm assuming it's this button."

She touched the blue tip of the sonic screwdriver to the Doctor's chest, before pressing said button. As if charged with an electrical current, the timelord's body jerked, his back bucking off the floor before falling back again with a thud. Agatha tried again, pressing the button a second time. The Doctor jerked again, his head lolling to the side, but no further change occurred.

"Let me try!" Donna hastily took the screwdriver, practically digging the tip into the Doctor's chest, an equal length apart from each heart, and pressed.

He jerked with more power this time, spluttering to life with a groan and rasping coughs. Donna suppressed the urge to punch the air with a glorious 'YES!' and instead slipped the screwdriver into her bag, leaning over the Doctor.

"Doctor? You with us?" She called, placing a hand on his blood-smeared cheek as she fished out a handkerchief.

His glazed eyes swivelled to her, his throat working soundlessly. She ducked her head closer to his mouth, only just managing to catch the breathless stutters.

"G-ginger beer…pro...tein." He whispered, each word a painful rasp, "Salt…"

She straightened, finally turning her attention to the doorway. There stood what seemed to be the entire party: Lady Eddison, Golightly, Miss Redmond, Roger, Davenport, Mrs Hart; even the colonel sat gaping in his wheelchair at the head of them.

"You gonna help or what?" She snapped with unintentional harshness, "We need ginger beer, protein and salt-"

She broke off as the Doctor tugged weakly at her arm, and ducked again to hear him.

"N-not salt… salty." He corrected her, sounding somewhat more like himself.

"Wait, not salt! Something salty!" She yelled after the disappearing legs of Roger, Davenport and Golightly.

"Might I ask what happened?" Lady Eddison asked quietly, a hand posed in front of her mouth as she gazed worriedly at the Doctor's lanky form, quietly taking in the blood covering the floor, his face and Donna's. Donna self-consciously scrubbed at her face with the handkerchief, before fishing out another clean one. You could never be too careful; she had plenty more stashed in her bag.

"The Doctor was poisoned." Agatha answered, gesturing sharply to the beige drink on the table, "Cyanide in his drink."

"Then the murder has attempted to take another victim!" The colonel exclaimed aghast, looking set to grab his shotgun and wheel out to war.

"Indeed he- or she- has." Agatha agreed, watching the Doctor carefully.

He ignored their stares, reaching out blindly to have Donna press the clean handkerchief into it. She hovered anxiously as he used it to wipe his face free from blood; red streaks tainted the crisp white of the cloth.

"A room." Lady Eddison suddenly spoke, "I shall go ready a room for the Doctor to recover. Mrs Hart, please closely watch the production of all foods for tonight; I should not like for this to happen again."

The rosy-faced cook nodded, quickly turning and disappearing back out into the hallway alongside Lady Eddison, who left only after another worried glance at the Doctor and a nod to Donna and Agatha.

Donna replied with a soft smile, before looking down at the lanky form in front of her. He was attempting to push himself up, but never succeeded in raising his back more than an inch from the floor. Together, she and Agatha positioned themselves at his sides, pulling him up into a sitting position against the foot of the sofa. He groaned, scrunching his eyes shut once again as his head lolled back.

"What will the food do?" Donna enquired, taking his hand in hers once again.

"Detox." He replied, his murmur barely more than a whisper.

She frowned but said nothing, sharing an inquisitive eyebrow with Agatha. Half the things he said made no sense, but one look at his pale face was enough to halt her questions. Luckily for her, Golightly, Roger and Davenport came racing back, and Golightly crouched down at the Doctor's side with a jar of walnuts, anchovies and a bottle of Ginger beer. He set them on the floor and stepped back, watching with obvious confusion as the Doctor cracked open his eyes.

Like dark orbs of coal they settled on the equipment, and his hand slowly moved first to the ginger beer. He attempted lamely to open it, but his hands merely continued to slip uselessly on the lid until Donna took it from him and opened it instead. To their bafflement, instead of drinking it, he spat most back out before pouring it over himself, soaking his head and shoulders and adding to the bloodstains on his suit. Donna already had the walnuts open for him afterwards, and he took a mouthful, appearing slightly frustrated with his lack of strength. The anchovies came next, and by the time they were down, Lady Eddison had returned.

"The guest room is ready." She said, running her eyes over the food in puzzlement.

The Doctor nodded, allowing Donna to pull him to his feet and sling his arm over her shoulders, wrapping her own arm around his waist. As they followed Lady Eddison past the guests, Agatha seemed to give each of them a hard gaze, meaningfully raising her eyebrows. They cringed under her scrutinizing, and were left staring down at the bloody mess on the floor.

For a gangly timelord, with the uncanny ability to gain no weight whatsoever, he was a lot heavier than Donna had expected. Nevertheless, she supported him without remark, taking on most of his weight without a thought.

The guest room, as it turned out, was a red carpeted room with little more decorating it than a bed, a chest of drawers and the velvet curtains that adorned the window.

"If there is anything you need," Lady began, pulling closed the curtains, "please do not hesitate to ask."

She turned to face them, her hands clasped together in front of her as she peered again at the Doctor, before giving Donna and Agatha an encouraging smile and leaving, closing the door behind her.

Donna helped the Doctor straight to the bed, easing him down and swinging his legs up after him. He laid spread-eagle, eyes closed and chest rising and falling steadily. She almost thought he was asleep until a frown appeared on his face.

"Not very comfy..." He murmured, almost to himself, but nevertheless remained as he was.

Agatha sighed, striding further into the room and setting down a bucket.

"I spotted this," She said, "it may come in use..." She sighed again, wringing her hands before half turning to the door, "I will go back downstairs and see if I can find more about the cyanide."

She smiled at Donna, nodding to her and casting a glance at the Doctor before leaving the room. Donna yawned, perching on the edge of the bed next to the doctor. He looked almost childish, bouncing slightly as he lay down, as if testing the bed...

"Donna." He murmured after a while, gulping convulsively.

"Yes?"

"I think that bucket was a brilliant idea."

She barely had time to seize the bucket and pull him into a sitting position before he began emptying out his entire stomach content. She sat beside him, one arm wrapped around his shoulders, while soothingly stroking his hair with her free hand as he vomited, retched and spluttered into the bucket. It seemed like an eternity before finally the ordeal halted with a shudder, and Donna pulled the bucket away, setting it aside as the Doctor pulled his knees to his chest, hugging them tightly with his forehead resting on top.

She sighed, wrapping her arms around him and pulling his shivering form into a hug. He let go of his knees and returned it, wrapping his arms back around her and resting his cheek on her shoulder with a sigh. She could feel the heat radiating from his body, even through the brown suit, and still he shuddered miserably against her.

"You're boiling." She commented with concern as she pulled away, easing him down to a lying position. He curled on his side into a loose ball and closed his eyes as she loosened his tie, before unbuttoning his jacket and taking it off. She folded it neatly, placing it on a chair before turning back to him. His shirt was already soaked with sweat, and a thick sheen shone on his face.

She bent down over him, brushing back his wet fringe before pressing her hand to his cheek and forehead. He hummed gratefully under her cool touch, catching hold of her other hand and pulling her to sit down. She smiled, allowing herself to laugh; what a childish nine hundred odd year old.

But he continued to shudder, sweating profusely, and only moments later he groaned and turned an abnormal green colour. She grabbed the bucket with one hand while pulling him up with the other, and continued to soothe him as he began again to vomit.

"Alright. Alright." She murmured soothingly as he heaved and heaved, his skinny body jerking with each retch, "I'm here..."

The vomiting soon lapsed into ragged gasps, and she stopped her administrations again to take away the bucket. She tried not to peek inside, but from the amount of sloshing she heard she guessed it contained a great deal of... content. She looked back at the Doctor, sat with his legs stretched out in front of him on the bed and arms wrapped around his stomach, eyes closed and face set into a grimace as he gasped for air.

Donna sat back down, and he willingly allowed himself to be pulled down to lie with his upper body cradled on her lap, his back towards her. She sighed, listening to his laboured breathing whilst absent-mindedly stroking his hair. His back was practically burning against her and he continued to perspire like there was no tomorrow; she made a mental note to keep tabs on how much he'd drink later on. Carefully, she reached over and slipped off his white converse to reveal red socks. On each ankle was a cartoon clock, dressed in police garb, underneath of which were the words "time management." She stifled a smile at the bad joke; typical doctor.

Her humour disappeared when he groaned again, turning his face into her knee with a grimace, his hands reaching for something to clutch. She immediately took hold of his hands, squeezing them comfortingly as he rode out the pain. She felt his back tense, saw his teeth clench, heard his gasp of pain, and did what she could to console him.

He groaned again, louder this time, and a single name was audible through the agonized moans.

"Donna..."

"I'm here, Doctor." She whispered, stroking back his hair and resting a soothing hand on his brow.

Eventually he relaxed, sagging against her with a soft sigh, his cheek resting against her knee. A soft smile crept onto his lips, and she rolled her eyes, knowing what was coming next.

"Ooer." He murmured- in fact purred, "Donna Noble, best temp in Chiswick, doting nanny."

She snorted at that, playfully smacking him lightly on the cheek, but resumed stroking his hair.

Slowly, he fell asleep, his lips slightly parted and breathing steady. She rested her hand gently on his brow, cheek, neck, then one-handedly undid the top button of his shirt and felt his chest with a satisfied sigh. He was still a little too warm for her liking, but was certainly cooling down from his previous state.

Finally, she allowed herself to close her eyes for a moment, calming herself, before studying the sleeping Doctor carefully. His face was ashen, his eyelashes a stark dark against his skin, yet he still shone with perspiration. Dried blood stuck out on the white collar of his shirt, his shoulders and back almost transparent with the mixture of Ginger beer and sweat. And yet he slept like a baby, his lax face almost angelic and his hand curled loosely next to his cheek.

She sighed again; soon he would be up and bouncing around, acting as if he'd never been poisoned, or had never chucked up his weight's worth in blood and vomit, or had never even had his hearts stop for at least a minute and a half.

Wasn't this wizard?