She was back in the muck, the cold sucking mud that pressed against her, but this time she was beneath it, and it was covering her, enveloping her, and it pushed against her chest, making it hard to draw a breath. She gasped, struggling against the pressure, and there was that damned stone poking her in the side again, too, and that was only making it worse. And it was cold, so cold…

Donna was suddenly aware that she'd been dreaming. She jerked to wakefulness and opened her eyes. Her first sensation was cold; she hadn't been dreaming that. The covers had been pushed back, her pyjama top was spread open save for a single button, and there were fingers moving over her bare chest. The Doctor was touching her—

"Oi!" she cried, shoving his hand away. "What the hell do you think you're doing?"

He looked up at her, guilt written all over his face. "Donna, I—"

She slapped his arm. "Pervert! I knew you were some sorta depraved alien sicko!" She scrabbled to pull her shirt back together.

"What?" he asked. He blinked at her through his glasses.

Trying to look all innocent when she'd caught him with his hand in the cookie jar…"You just couldn't wait, couldn't leave it alone, had to take a peek, feel me up—" She had to pause to draw a labored breath.

"Donna," the Doctor reached for her arm, wrapping his fingers around it gently, "calm down."

But she was angry and a little scared, and how dare he treat her like this? Taking advantage of her while she was sleeping? Oh, that really took the cake… She coughed, wincing at the pain that rippled through her chest. God, she was really steamed, so much so that she could barely breathe. She pressed a fist over her sternum.

He slid his hand behind her back, easing her upright. She protested with an ineffectual wheeze. The room grew dim for a moment, and she blinked against the darkness. When she could see again, the Doctor's hand was moving back up to her chest.

"What's—the—matter—with you?" she gasped. However, even as she asked the question she wondered whether she would have been wiser to inquire about herself, because something was definitely not right.

Her eyes shot back up to his face, and she saw the concern and worry etched in his fine features. His brow was furrowed, and his mouth was a tight line. He had something in his ears, too; she followed the lines down to see that he held the end of a stethoscope in his hand.

"I need to listen," he said.

Her chest was so heavy, and breathing was very, very challenging. She nodded and unconsciously reached out to grasp his arm weakly.

He pressed the instrument over her chest in several places then held it against her back. She wheezed again, becoming desperate to draw a decent breath. Her fingers clawed at his arm, nails scraping against the fabric of his shirt.

"It's all right," he told her. "I'm going to help you."

"Please," she rasped, collapsing back against the pillows.

He moved aside the shirt and carefully shifted her arm so that he could see the top of her flank. His fingers probed softly, and she hissed in pain when he found the sore spot. Her vision was blurry, but she could still see the deep, dark bruise forming on her fair skin. The Doctor reached over to the night table. She saw that he was holding the sonic screwdriver, twisting it until the tiny lights blinked in a strange pattern.

"This is going to hurt a little," he said, and his tone was apologetic.

He pressed the device against the injury. Donna tried not to flinch away as pain flared through her side. For a moment she felt as though her lung were being ripped from her body.

And then his hand rubbed over her sternum, and he said, "Now breathe. Slowly, Donna; just take a small breath."

Cautiously she inhaled then exhaled. She attempted a slightly deeper breath, finding the results wonderfully satisfactory. She grinned up at him in immense relief. He smiled back, though his expression remained somber. He listened to her lungs again then gave a nod of satisfaction.

"Now, I just need to sort the rib," he said, as though she'd know precisely what he was talking about. He readjusted the sonic screwdriver and held it over the bruise.

The area felt hot for a few seconds then cold, but the pain began receding, leaving a dull ache in its wake. He ran a finger lightly over the bone and nodded in satisfaction.

"I can't mend fully it with the screwdriver," he said rather apologetically, "but I'll run back to the TARDIS at first light and get the fracture repair device. This should do until then, but you'll need to remain as still as possible."

She swallowed and took another slow breath. "All right."

He moved her shirt back into place and carefully refastened the buttons.

"What happened?" she asked, watching his long, delicate fingers as they moved over the fabric.

He looked up. "You fractured a rib. Must've happened when you fell into the puddle,. It caused a tiny tear in the pleural lining which resulted in a pneumothorax." At her questioning look, he clarified, "Sorry, collapsed lung. But I've reinflated the lung and done a decent patch job on the rib, and I think you'll be fine until morning."

She nodded. "How did you know?"

"Your breathing changed—sounded like respiratory distress, and then I saw the signs of cynanosis, and I realized you'd been hurt and hadn't told me." He frowned at her. "Why didn't you tell me, Donna?"

"I didn't realize it was that bad," she replied honestly; in her worry about his lasciviousness, she hadn't even considered that she was really injured.

"I had a feeling something was wrong, but you were so insistent, kept pushing me away—"

"Sorry." She smiled rather abashedly. "Mixed signals, I suppose."

He lifted an eyebrow quizzically. "Mixed signals?"

"I thought…" She paused; really, she'd been quite ridiculous.

"What did you think?" he asked gently and sincerely.

"I just… I wasn't sure about your motives."

"My motives?" he repeated. "What did you think I was going to do?" Both eyebrows lifted impressively high. "Wait a minute. You called me, what was it? 'Alien pervert.' Did you think I was going to do something inappropriate?"

Now she realized that she couldn't tell him the truth. He wouldn't understand; he'd think her stupid and silly. So she shook her head vigorously and replied, "Thought you'd just laugh at me again."

"Oh." Very contritely, he said, "Sorry. That really was rude of me. Sometimes I just forget—I mean, I don't realize—it's just that, well, you said it once yourself. I need someone to remind me."

She squeezed his arm softly. "I can do that."

He smiled. "I'd like that. Now I want you to get some sleep. I'm going to stay right here so that I can monitor your breathing. Is that all right?"

"Yeah. Absolutely."

Relieved fatigue washed over her, and Donna closed her eyes, trusting that her alien Time Lord and whatever-the-hell-else he was to remain at her side and keep her safe throughout the night.