The Doctor is escorted into the ward by Sister Jatt. She seems surprised and confused by his suggestion of a shop. He considers pushing the issue until he sees a man in one of the ward bays, grey as ash... or as a stone.
"That's Petrifold Regression, right?"
"I'm dying, sir," says the man, identified as the Duke of Manhattan by his assistant. "A lifetime of charity and abstinence. And it ends like this."
Sister Jatt leads him away, reassuring the Doctor that "he'll be up and about in no time."
"I doubt it," the Doctor says skeptically. "Petrifold Regression? He's turning to stone. There won't be a cure for... oh... a thousand years? He might be up and about, but only as a statue."
"Have faith in the sisterhood," Jatt says, then swiftly changes the subject. "But is there no one here you recognize? It's rather unusual to visit without knowing the patient."
He looks down the ward and he sees him. He knows who's called him here.
"No. I think I've found him," he says numbly, walking toward the tank at the end of the ward.
Sister Jatt leaves him with Novice Hame, another of the feline nurses. The Doctor asks Jatt to inquire after Rose, as she appears to have gotten lost. It's hard to worry too much about it right now, though, not with him here.
"I'm afraid the Face of Boe's asleep," Novice Hame says apologetically. "That's all he tends to do these days. Are you a friend, or...?"
The Doctor shakes his head. "We met just the once on Platform One. What's wrong with him?"
Hame explains that the Face of Boe is dying. Of old age. "The one thing we can't cure." She goes on to point out that he's thousands of years old. "Some people say millions," she adds with the smile of a gossip. "Although, that's impossible."
"Oh, no... I like impossible," he says, kneeling before the tank. He's barely registering anything the nurse has said to him. He puts a hand to the tank sadly. "I'm here. I look a bit different, but it's me... it's the Doctor."
And it seems the Face of Boe sighs in his sleep. Comforted somehow by his presence.
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timeasmymeasure
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Date: 2006-07-09 11:00 pm (UTC)"That's Petrifold Regression, right?"
"I'm dying, sir," says the man, identified as the Duke of Manhattan by his assistant. "A lifetime of charity and abstinence. And it ends like this."
Sister Jatt leads him away, reassuring the Doctor that "he'll be up and about in no time."
"I doubt it," the Doctor says skeptically. "Petrifold Regression? He's turning to stone. There won't be a cure for... oh... a thousand years? He might be up and about, but only as a statue."
"Have faith in the sisterhood," Jatt says, then swiftly changes the subject. "But is there no one here you recognize? It's rather unusual to visit without knowing the patient."
He looks down the ward and he sees him. He knows who's called him here.
"No. I think I've found him," he says numbly, walking toward the tank at the end of the ward.
Sister Jatt leaves him with Novice Hame, another of the feline nurses. The Doctor asks Jatt to inquire after Rose, as she appears to have gotten lost. It's hard to worry too much about it right now, though, not with him here.
"I'm afraid the Face of Boe's asleep," Novice Hame says apologetically. "That's all he tends to do these days. Are you a friend, or...?"
The Doctor shakes his head. "We met just the once on Platform One. What's wrong with him?"
Hame explains that the Face of Boe is dying. Of old age. "The one thing we can't cure." She goes on to point out that he's thousands of years old. "Some people say millions," she adds with the smile of a gossip. "Although, that's impossible."
"Oh, no... I like impossible," he says, kneeling before the tank. He's barely registering anything the nurse has said to him. He puts a hand to the tank sadly. "I'm here. I look a bit different, but it's me... it's the Doctor."
And it seems the Face of Boe sighs in his sleep. Comforted somehow by his presence.