The tears broke out of her eyes and she jumped into action as the Doctor swallowed the pills. No way would she let him die. But what if that’s what he wanted? He’d regenerate, it’d be fine. No, not letting him die.
The war inside her head lasted a vicious second, but she made her decision. Do her job as a Guardian, and save him. “No you don’t,” she grit out, grunting from the effort of hoisting him up onto her shoulder. She brought him to the med bay as quickly as she could. “Sorry Doctor, you’re not dying today.”
She bustled around the room, looking for what she’d need. “Epinephrine for shock, base base base… baking soda!” She gave him two shots of epinephrine and sprinted to the kitchen for baking soda. When she returned, she opened the box and poured it down his throat, making him swallow.
"Come on Doctor," she murmured, tears flowing down her face. She could feel him slipping away, had she not been quick enough? "Come on Doctor, come on…"
He’d forgotten how unpleasant of an experience ingesting aspirin was; the anaphylactic shock was triggered almost as soon as the first tablets had started going down his throat. His skin itched so much it was practically burning. He could feel his airways closing and his respiratory bi-pass fail to kick in due to the poison.
The lack of oxygen was slowing down his brain, and he would’ve wept with relief were he in full control of his body; as it was, he was no longer at the helm, and while suffocating was not the way he ever dreamed he’d go, he was at last beginning to feel calm and at peace. He felt the ghosts melt away, his demons disappear, and the perpetual flames die down. The Doctor no longer felt bound by the chains of his grief nor his responsibility; at last, he could be free. As his eyes slid shut, and he began to slip into his final rest, he heard the TARDIS hum a sad good-bye. ‘I’ll miss you, Ol’ girl’, was what he was able to respond before the darkness took him.
Or, so he thought.
He was barely conscious, and slipping rapidly when the guardian had dragged him into the med bay and stabbed him with a double-dose of adrenaline.
He felt his hearts begin to pick up the pace, and his breathing was coming easier (or had the respiratory bi-pass kicked in?). Even in his state, he could tell that this wasn’t right.
The next thing he knew, he was choking -not because of the aspirin - but on what may as well have been chalk dust. Whatever it was, it was neutralizing the aspirin. He gagged and clumsily rolled over to clear his airways. He wouldn’t be completely out of the ball park yet, but with the quantity of baking powder (he’d identified the taste, his brain starting to function at its habitual rhythm) he’d already ingested, there was no chance of reattaining the Great Beyond without first chucking back another bottle of aspirin - something he reckoned would be very hard for him to do in the foreseeable future.
When he’d finally got his breath back, the first thing he did was curse -and profusely so, in as many languages as he could remember in his state.