rude_not_ginger | for magicalskeptic: A trip to the ocean

She's a difficult, confusing woman, but her touch is gentle. In a way, it makes everything that's happened worth this, worth understanding how kind she can truly be.

"I'm fine," he says, firmly. "Just a bullet wound, nothing I can't handle. We'll hit a hospital planet or something once we're out of this place. But I'm not putting you in danger by waiting here."

He hears a click, and he struggles to his feet. "They're going to try to turn them back on, we only have minutes."

There's a momentary battle between insisting on looking at the wound right now, Morgana knows from past history the importance of getting wounds cleaned as quickly as possible, and the danger of another volley of bullets.

So, she has to make an unfortunate compromise, as she tries to give him some assistance as he gets to his feet, then fetches his coat. "Doctor, as soon as we are clear," another click momentarily gets her attention, "I will look at that injury."

He's the one bleeding and she's the one being deadly serious. She's going to look, whether or not he likes it, save dire circumstances.

"Yes, yes, absolutely, once we're out of here," he says. "Come on, we've got to get out!"

He starts down the hallway, only briefly glancing behind himself to make sure she's following. He's already hurt, he's all right if he gets hurt again. But Morgana, he promised himself nothing would happen to her.

There's another corridor with doors, but no stairs this time. He scowls, but begins down it, slowly.

"There's always a way out," he says. "Be it a lift, a set of stairs, a window---"

One of the doors near him makes a loud bang. After leaping in surprise, he realizes it's not a bang. It's a knock.

Knock. Knock. Knock.

Morgana is following, looking for a way out as well, but the knock stops her in her tracks.

On the third knock, Morgana's identified the door. She pauses, and is about to call out a command to show one's self but the pause in running means that she's hearing something else, far more frightening, to her.

There's another click from the turret.

So, she makes the decision. "Whoever that is will have to deal with us, before you get hurt again."

She's clearly not as concerned about herself as he is.

She's right. There's no time.

"Three knocks is all you get," he mutters to himself as he reaches out for the door. It opens without hesitation. Within is a library, it looks like. Bookshelves line the walls, with a leather chair on the side and an antique-looking lamp on a table next to it. The light is flickering, leaving the room partially in darkness every few seconds.

The room is also completely void of life.

He steps in and gestures for Morgana to follow him, then shuts the door. There's another click outside, and he hears a spray of bullets hit the far wall.

The Doctor's concern about knocking is something she's heard of before, but at the moment, she cannot remember if that was in his head or aloud. Although, right now is not the time to check.

The noise of the bullets makes her flinch. The Doctor may find it silly, but Morgana actually ducks a little to the side, uncertain if there's enough force for the projectiles to come straight through.

The light flickers, and the volley finishes. This means there is only one thing for Morgana to say. "Sit down. We need to see how badly you have been injured."

"I meant out completely, Morgana, we don't have time."

All the same, he does hurt. He can't deny that. He goes over to the chair and sits down, carefully removing his jacket. The red from the basement stays in the exposed V-shape on his white shirt, as well as a spreading red stain on his shoulder. He looks over his shoulder at the back.

"Blood on the back, too," he says. "Must've gone straight through."

Morgana has dealt with injuries before, but never something quite like this, and needs a closer look.

When the lamp flickers again, she reaches out and smacks it, unwittingly behaving like every human in history when a piece of technology malfunctions.

She spares a glance around the room but does not see anything dangerous. "Why would whatever is trying to kill us want us in here? We were led here, just like every place else."

While she is talking, she unbuttons the first five buttons on his shirt. Her fingers are steady, this is medical, so she isn't awkward. Even propriety has moments where medical care supersedes everything else. She pulls it back, and frowns at the t-shirt. "I am sorry," she says, when she takes a hold of the hole left by the bullet and tears it.

Leaning over, she examines the hole, but does not touch -- it is bleeding far more than she would like. "We have nothing with which to clean it." She's frustrated at the situation, not him. it would be impossible for the wound not to be contaminated with whatever the brackish liquid was below stairs.

The Doctor, on the other hand, is awkward. For all the sexiness of this new incarnation, it came with it a bundle of nerves when it came to anything remotely sexual, including clothing removal. He supposes that's why he's always so very keen to wear multiple layers, where other incarnations were content with a shirt and a tie, or a shirt and a set of braces.

But Morgana means nothing sexual about this, so he focuses on that.

"I love that shirt," he says, trying to make light of it. "David Bowie gave me that shirt. Or was it Jimi Hendrix? All a bit of a blur, that era."

There's a creak somewhere in the room, and the Doctor stops talking, stops moving, only listens. It reminds him of a dam about to burst. The straining sound of water.

The names mean nothing to Morgana, but she has learned the Doctor does like to name drop. "He will have to get you another one then, as this one is ruined." Perhaps it's a tailor? Not that Morgana could ever know.

She's talking more to make sure he is all right. As long as the injured are capable of talking, things are never quite as dire. Looking at the wound both in the front, and stepping behind, ripping the shirt further, to see the exit wound, she comments, "Both shirts are ruined." She places a hand near, but not on the wound. She's feeling the skin for warmth -- the start of an infection, as these things can take hold quickly.

His skin still feels cool, as it always does. "The wound is straight through, but I would feel better if we could bandage it before we continued." She looks around the room to see if there is something that could suffice.

She's not even paying attention to the creak.

The Doctor isn't listening to what she's saying.

"Shh, shh, shut up," he snaps. He holds up a hand and listens. The creaking has stopped.

Has it?

"Excuse me?" Here she is trying to figure out how to best treat his wound and the Doctor is telling her to shut up?

He listens. There's nothing but silence and their breathing, the Doctor's a bit heavier than Morgana's.

"I must've been---"

Without warning, there's a loud crack, and the front door, the one they walked so calmly through moments before, all but explodes off of its hinges as a torrent of clear water pushes through. It doesn't stop, quickly making to fill the room.

"We need to get out of here!"

The water rushes in, and instinctively, Morgana tries to step out of its way, but cannot due to the torrent. Within a matter of a few seconds, it is nearly up to her knees.

"How do we do that?" Their exit is currently gushing water -- not purple water -- at them.

It's not a useful question, so Morgana moves away from the door, looking to see if there is hidden exit somewhere.

And comes up short.

"I don't know!" the Doctor replies. He grabs for his coat, but it's quickly pulled away from him by the torrent of water. His sonic is still in that coat!

Another rush of water comes in, and he finds himself losing his footing. The leather chair and the lamp are washed away, and the light from the lamp flickers again, the room quickly going completely dark, and then illuminated by the dying bulb.

"Block the water!" he tries. "Help me move this bookshelf!"

It's all he can think will work.

The water, now well above her knees, Morgana wades over as quickly as the rushing current will allow.

The flaws are readily evident in this plan, when she almost loses her footing -- a rare event indeed.

And the light finally loses it's battle with the water and goes out, plunging the room into darkness.

"Doctor?!" She's lost sight of him entirely, and cannot hear the regular sounds of life over the water but she does feel what she is sure is the bookshelf he indicated. "I have it," she announces, in case he cannot see as well in this darkness, as she can.

"I'm here!" he calls over the rushing water. "Morgana, take out your sonic and use it as a torch!"

He says the word in his natural language that means 'electronic lighting device', and he thinks he might need to reword. But no, no, the colloquialism should make sense to her, too. He worries about his own sonic and the things he has in his pockets, but he can't fret about them. He's got to move the bookshelf.

But where? It's so utterly dark in the room.

The water nearing her waist, she was already fishing for her might-be-a-screwdriver, before the Doctor tells her to, just to make sure it doesn't get lost in the current.

Morgana also tucks in the TARDIS key, which she wears around her neck on a chain, into her dress, as she's not sure the enchantment works with natural disasters.

She turns it on, and though she may never love the sound the way the Doctor clearly does, having a bit of light makes her smile briefly, out of relief.

It does make it though, a bit awkward to get a hold of the bookshelf. "We need to push it away from the wall, or else it will never move." Perhaps the force of the current might help them here.

The light is dim, but it's far better than the utter darkness of before. The water's just about at his waist, too, and it feels like it's rising faster.

The bookshelf is too heavy, he decides. The books only make it worse.

"Tip it forward," he says. "Knock the books off, we should be able to drag it!"

This isn't going to work. He knows it even as he says it. They need another way out. They need any way out.

Well, if it's at his waist, that would be much, much higher on Morgana, as she frantically knocks the books off, the light from her might-be-a-screwdriver waving about as she does so.

Without thinking, she ducks her head below the water, to get the books on the lower shelf.

The light from her sonic dims, and the Doctor is left in the dark, frozen and panicked. Three knocks. He only heard three knocks, so he's not in trouble, but Morgana could be.

"Morgana!" he cries out, fear seizing him. Should he look for her? Where could she have gone?

He grips the side of the bookshelf and gives it a tug. Most of the books are gone, but it's firmly attached to the wall.

"Oh, no."

Morgana does not hear him, but resurfaces, to find the water is three-quarters up her chest. She has to hold her hand above her head, to avoid spray from the rushing water obscuring their dim light. "The books are gone, from the lower shelves. We should be able to move it now."

She might sound rather proud of this achievement.

Trying to get a grip on the back of the bookshelf, when it does not move, Morgana looks at the Doctor.

She is not going to panic, she tells herself.

He decides not to scold her for trying to help, but makes a mental note to hug her very thoroughly later. She's all right, neither of them have drowned, but there's no way they're moving this bookshelf.

"Climb up the side," he instructs. "Get to higher ground. I'll try to see if I can get through the door!"

He can't see where the door is, and the light from the sonic isn't bright enough to tell him where to go, but he aims for roundabout where the water is coming from.

Morgana is not going to climb up a bookshelf and wait, while the Doctor, who has wound straight through his shoulder, does something.

"Doctor," she says seriously, over the rushing water, "I can swim." She's not going to mention she is in no way dressed for it. Gowns do tend to get tangled.

"We are not separating." So, instead of climbing up the bookshelf, she follows him. "Whatever is trying to kill us wanted us in here, because there is no other way out." Of that, she is convinced.

He wants to argue with her, but she's right. He knows she is. So he reaches back and takes her hand, despite the water.

"Sticking together, then," he says.

The water's moving too fast, though. Even with his long, strong legs, he can't get close without feeling himself being pushed off. He releases her hand and tries to swim towards it.

"It's too strong!" he says. "Unless we can shut off the water flow!"

for magicalskeptic: A trip to the ocean

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