This was just a mental drabble after an illness. I was writing away waiting to see which companion would pop out at me and of course it was Nine and Rose. They were so perfect for each other.

I do not own Doctor Who, but I play with the characters and try to return them mostly unharmed in the process.

Let me know if you want me to try other Doctor/Companion pairings! This could become a one-shot compilation of sicfics...that would be a good fluff read lol

Let me know! Please read and review!

First there was silence. And darkness. Vaguely, she became aware of a faint light through her closed eyelids. Dragging them open slowly, she caught sight of morning's first glow peeking through the crack between the curtains. She groaned and shut her eyes again. They seemed to weigh a ton. For a moment, there was still just silence. Blessed silence.

As if determined to drag her completely out of her peaceful slumber, a round alarm clock next to the bed began its high-pitched, one-sided morning symphony. The sound slammed into her eardrums and she lunged for the offending cause of the clamor and tossed it furiously across the room with one hand, causing it to shatter into pieces on the floor. She swallowed down the nausea that crept into her throat at the sudden move and buried her face into her pillow again. The room felt impossibly hot and her head was beginning to ache. With an annoyed groan, she rolled onto her back and slung an arm over her eyes to block out the growing strip of light. She realized with a faint feeling of surprise that her forehead was hot against her arm. "Must have had too many covers," she mumbled, kicking her legs until the comforter was half in the floor and she was trying to catch her breath. She just couldn't seem to breathe correctly. Must be the hot air.

"Did I sleep at all?" she mumbled to no one in particular. "It felt so hot all night. Must have been time for the summer blanket, not the comforter. I wonder what day it is." And she was asleep, darkness taking her back in it's grasp.

When she woke the second time, the light was brighter, but the curtains still blocked most of it. Her cheeks were burning, and her throat hurt. "Should probably get some water," she mumbled to herself. Struggling to sit up, she tried to look around. The room was weaving in and out as if she were on a boat. Her eyes ached and her legs felt like someone was wrenching them from her body. Rubbing her calves, she tried to focus on why she had sat up in the first place.

"What was I doing? Where – where was I going?" She gazed into the darkness of the room with unseeing eyes. Suddenly, she didn't feel like moving anymore, and collapsed onto the bed again, asleep.

When she woke the third time, she could think of nothing else but the pain. Crushing, cramping pain. Her arms ached and her legs ached, and her skin felt as if it was on fire. She could barely stand the feel of her light tank top and shorts against it. The blanket felt like pure torture against her skin and she kicked it off too, only to find herself again gasping for breath. Her lungs burned and swallowing was completely out of the question. Spit drooled down the corner of her dry and cracked lips as her throat refused to accept anything down it past the tonsils. Her mind was a whirling concoction of darkness, what day it was or wasn't, the crack of light, and where was the water?

Licking her lips, she tried to sit up. Surely there was water somewhere. She just had to find it. Halfway to a sitting position, her pounding head squeezed a groan from her lips. Her eyes throbbed and each pound send pulses of red pain through her optic nerves to the center of her head. Whimpering, she slid sideways off the bed and found herself on the floor on her hands and knees. The rough flat carpet bit into her sensitive skin and she nearly jumped to her feet at the sudden agony, but the cramping in her muscles barely allowed her to crawl a few steps to the door of her room. She wasn't sure where she was going, but her mind tried to send her the right direction.

What day was it? What time was it? Light, daylight, maybe day? Maybe it wasn't really there at all, maybe it was actually night and her mind was making it up. So hot, so much pain. So dry. So very dry. She tried to swallow, but that was a bad decision. Feeling as if she had just stabbed a knife down her throat, she gasped for breath. Okay, swallowing was still not happening.

Squeezing her eyes shut, she took a few more crawling steps. Her knees found the cold kitchen tile and she nearly screamed at the change in temperature. The tile was smooth but hard and so very cold. Her nerves, already overloaded, send shards of pain through her skin and she felt tears running down her burning, dry skin. "What day is it?" She couldn't remember. Why was she in the floor? No idea. It was getting so hot, maybe there was a fire? Was she crawling to avoid the smoke? She took an experimental sniff. Her sinuses were completely swollen shut. Great, maybe it was smoke. Now she couldn't breathe. Water. Maybe water would put out the fire. Her reaching hands found a cabinet. Reaching, balancing on agonized knees, she reached up to find the cool ceramic of the kitchen sink. Water. Her fumbling fingers found the side of a glass. Cold. Water. This was good. Maybe? Water was good for a fire. She wrapped her fingers around the glass, clinging to the cabinet as if climbing the side of a sandstone ridge. But the combination of cramping legs, sensitive skin, and intense headache finally took its toll, and she collapsed again, flat on the floor, not hearing the sound of shattering glass around her.

Knock knock. Knock Knock. Would someone just answer the door already? The Doctor reached up and knocked again. It wasn't like Rose not to answer. He had told her he was coming on this day almost a week ago. He tried the knob and frowned. Locked. Typical humans. Scanning it with his sonic, he turned the knob and poked his head around the corner. "Hey, Rose! You home? The star won't wait -"

His brow creased as his sensitive ears caught the sound of someone moaning faintly. He cocked his head to one side and pushed the door open, allowing himself to enter. He shut the door behind him and leaned on it, glancing around. He didn't want to get slapped by Jackie again, or worse, run into her in her pink bathrobe. He rolled his eyes at the idea and took a step forward.

"Hey, Rose? It's just me. You're door was locked so I kind of just let myself –" he froze at the sight of streaks of blood on the tile of the kitchen floor. He swallowed hard. "in."

He knelt and examined the scene quickly. Scattered glass shards lay everywhere on the floor around the kitchen sink. Appeared to have once been a drinking glass. Then someone had - walked? – through the fragments. His eyes were narrowed. Someone was hurt. Then he heard a soft sob that he recognized. Jumping to his feet, he was only three strides to Rose's bedroom, as he called her name. "Rose! Rose, it's me, are you –"
He turned the corner to see his Rose in a heap in the floor, obviously having been crawling from somewhere. Her trajectory was toward the bed, and she was sobbing hoarsely. In a half a second he was kneeling beside her, his sonic screwdriver in hand. He quickly waved it over her, noting that she slightly startled when he turned it on.

Dehydration.

Fever – 40.5C

Lung congestion, heavy breathing.

Some type of infection.

He leaned down to get a good look at her. Her face was ashen, her lips dry and cracked, dusty white tracks down her cheeks from her desperate tears. Her forehead was creased with pain, and her hands were shaking. He reached to take one in his, only to encounter something prickly and slick. The skin on the back of his neck bristled slightly. He hoped that was not what he thought it was.

He scanned the lamp with his other hand and it clicked on, its soft glow cutting through the darkness around them. His hearts skipped a beat for a moment as he put two and two together that Rose had somehow ended up crawling through the glass in the kitchen. No doubt looking for water. He reached and gently touched her knee, noting the oozing cuts there as well. The search obviously didn't go so well for her.

"My poor Rose Tyler," he spoke softly, dropping his sonic into the inner pocket of his leather jacket. For a second, he debated. Tardis or stay here?

He could treat her better in the Tardis. Who knows what she had contracted. Maybe some type of foreign flu? He desperately hoped not. Those were always so much more dangerous to humans with their under developed immune systems. He made his decision and bent over his companion.

"Rose, the Doctor is here." He ran a hand across her tangled blond hair, and frowned at the lack of acknowledgement. She was completely out.

Carefully, he reached an arm under her back and the other under her knees and pulled her close to him. She groaned slightly at the movement, but her eyes remained shut. "I am going to pick you up now, Rose. Don't be afraid." He carefully rose to his feel, his hearts breaking a little as she grasped his jacket in panic at the sudden movement. He gently shushed her, as he quickly and carefully left the Tyler house, carrying the most important person in the world to him clasped tightly in his arms.

As soon as they boarded the Tardis, the Doctor pulled the dematerialization switch with his elbow as he hurried through the console room. The Tardis kindly sent them into the Time Vortex so they could exist while the Doctor was preoccupied.

The medbay doors opened as he reached them, laying his burden down on one of the pristine white tables. "First things first," he spoke to the silent Rose. We have to get your temperature down. And you are so going to hate me for what I am going to do." He pulled open a drawer and pulled a large box of ice out of it. He chuckled - distracted by his experiment - and grinned at the drawers. "Nice, wasn't sure that freezer chip was going to work!"

His face became serious again and he hurried to another room with the ice. Returning to his companion, he pulled her into his chest again, carrying her to the other room as well. If Rose had been awake, she would have appreciated the silver-grey marble and black plush rugs. A wall length mirror rested above a long counter top, where various vases of beautiful foreign flowers were arranged in descending order. A massive black marble tub sat in the center of the room and it was here that the Doctor carried his burden. He laid her gently on the plush rug and turned on the faucet. While it ran, he pulled off his leather jacket and rolled up his sleeves. Tipping the box of ice into the water, he put his hand in and swirled them around. Nodding in satisfaction, he turned to where Rose lay.

He knelt next to her. "Hey, Rose. Wake up."
She groaned and chewed her lip in response to the pain he was sure she was feeling, but she did not awaken.

"Hey, don't." He pulled her lip from her teeth with his thumb. "Don't, okay? I am going to put you in really cold water, Rose. It's just to get your temperature down. I promise I will get you out when it's safe, okay?" He sighed at the silent, pale face and brushed back her hair. Gently, he took her up in his arms again and stepped into the tub of freezing water. His body temperature was naturally much lower than a human, so it was not uncomfortable for him. But he was sure that in her overheated state, it would be uncomfortable for her. "I am so so sorry, Rose," he whispered apologetically, as he carefully lowered her into the water, arms still around her.

Immediately, her subconscious fought, sending her into a flailing panic. "Rose! Rose!" The doctor held her tighter, trying to avoid the splashing water getting in his eye. "Rose, I've got you. It will be okay, I promise you that. I promise. it's okay."
Her fingers found his shirt front and clung to it, her hot forehead pressed against his chest. He could feel the heat radiating from her skin through the cotton. "Rest, Rose," he whispered into her ear. "I've got you."

He breathed in her soft fragrance, a combination of shampoo and lotion, and rested his back against the smooth marble of the tub. His mind scanned quickly through the events of the last twenty minutes and he sighed. There was a star that was going to burn out that he had wanted her to see. That was just going to have to wait. They would just have to take a trip into the past when Rose was better.

He tightened his grasp around her. She had to get better. She would. He had promised.

Twenty minutes later, she stirred. "D-D-Doctor?" Her teeth were starting to chatter and the Doctor smiled down at her.

"Hello."

She looked up at him with half-closed eyes. "C-Cold."

He nodded. "I know. I will get you out shortly." He reached for his sonic next to the tub and scanned her. "38.8. Not great, but better. Out of the danger zone for now. Let's get you dry and medicated, how bout that?"
She nodded, still grasping his shirt in her hand. He stepped from the tub and set her down. "Hang on, the Tardis will give you whatever you need, okay? Towels, clothes. Mind the glass in your hands, I will get that out as soon as you're dressed, okay?"

She looked up at him in confusion, her beautiful eyes still clouded by fever. "Doctor?"

He glanced down to realize that she was glancing from his face to his own wet shirt still plastered to his body. There were streaks of fresh red blood across the frobt where she had grasped it.

He smiled down at her and patted her hand.

"Glass, Rose, you dropped a glass and there's fragments in your hand. I'm okay."

She nodded blankly. "Glass?"

He cradled her cheek in his hand. "Don't think right now, Rose. Just rest and let the Tardis help you, okay?"

Rose nodded silently, and he reluctantly left her and stepped from the room to change clothes himself, listening to the hum of the Tardis.

Once it indicated to him that she was dressed, he stepped back in the marble room.

Rose sat where he had left her, pink pajamas on, her hair pulled back into a messy knot. He smiled gently. His Rose. He reached to pick her up and she leaned into him.

"Hello." He smiled down at her face, slightly less pale, but lines of pain still crossed her forehead. He leaned down and hissed them, hoping to make them go away completely.

She smiled weakly and closed her eyes, resting her head in his chest. She didn't notice when they left the marble room to enter medbay again. The doctor simply nodded at two first aid boxes and spoke to the Tardis. "Rose's room, please."

He stepped outside Medbay and right into Rose's room. "Thank you," he whispered to the Tardis. She hummed her acknowledgement. You're welcome.

"K, now Rose, you are going to bed now." He gently laid her onto the four-poster bed that the Tardis had provided. He nodded in satisfaction. Good job, old girl.

Rose smiled. "Thanks, Doctor. I don't know what happened to me. Everything was dark and it was so hot and there wasn't any water."

The Doctor picked up a glass of water that the Tardis provided and sat down next to her. "I found the water."

He smiled, his ears impossibly large and his eyes so unusually kind. She returned the smile and took the water from him, wincing at the stinging in her hand that she was beginning to notice.

He held out something to her. "Take this too."

Confusion crossed her face and she reached out. He dropped a little blue pill in her hand.

"What is it?"

He smiled again and turned to rummage through the two boxes that the Tardis had delivered for him.

"Pain medicine from the 34th Century. Will take care of that fever and pain. Also good for the type of virus you have. A particularly nasty flu virus, according to the sonic, but its definitely human."

She sighed and set the empty glass on the nightstand. "Yeah, thanks. Of course it's just human. Doctor, my legs are killing me."

The Doctor smiled and tucked a blanket around her shoulders. "Don't worry." He planted a kiss on the top of her head. "The Doctor will fix it. Let's get the glass out first, k?"

She watched him work, saline solution and tweezers his tools of choice, digging the shards of glass from her bruised knees and fragile hands, looking up apologetically every now and then when he hit a particularly painful shard, causing her to jerk her hand or knee away. He would smile gently and recapture the knee or hand in his long fingers, brow furrowed in concentration. At some point, the medicine kicked in and she began to drift. The fever and medicine began their battle and she gazed up at the ceiling. Her mind was whirling again, what time was it, what date, what year. Where was water? Was there a fire. Pain, stinging pain, cramping pain.

Then there was music. Gentle but firm hands were rubbing her calves, thumbs finding the right pressure points and relaxing the tension in her muscles. She was going to be okay. Somehow, she was sure of it. The Doctor would see to it. He had promised. And the Doctor's promise was gold to her.

Then there was singing. A language she didn't know, but felt at home with. Words she had never known, but felt deeply inside her heart. She gave in to the battle and could feel sleep begin to claim her again. Lost in the presence of a Doctor who would always take care of her, she allowed her mind to drift on the wings of the lullaby of Gallifrey.