Title: Green Worm

Summary: The Doctor makes a teeny tiny mistake. (Ninth Doctor & Rose)

Author's Notes: Why are my plot bunnies so damned weird?

The first thing she noticed when she woke up was that she had somehow cocooned herself within her duvet.

Which was not at all a bad thing because the second thing she noticed was that it was freezing in her room. She didn't know what the TARDIS was playing at, but Rose was not happy about it.

The third thing she noticed was that she was starving, but the kitchen was three corridors away and her bed was so lovely and warm…

Ten minutes later, she shuffled into the kitchen still wrapped in her duvet from head to toe, only her eyes peering out.

There was a plate of hot toast on the counter – she reached out and took a piece, her hand retreating back into the duvet with it. She'd barely taken a bite when something heavy slammed into her from the side, knocking her to the ground.

"Ow!" she yelled, trying to fight her way out of the duvet to find out who or what was pinning her to the ground.

Then a hand pulled some of the material away from her face and the Doctor was staring at her. "Rose?"

"What. Are you. Doing?" she hissed.

"Well, I…" He looked somewhat sheepish. "I thought you were a G'rag."

She glared stonily at him.

"That's an alien, he explained hastily. "Bit like a big green worm… and in this duvet…"

"You're telling me I look like a big green worm?"

"Only in the duvet." He frowned. "Why are you in a duvet?"

She put her hands on his chest and tried to shove him off, but he didn't even seem to notice. "It's freezing," she told him, "and I'm not traipsing around losing fingers and toes to frostbite if I can help it. Why is it so cold, anyway?"

He grinned. "TARDIS thermostat's on the blink." He glanced down at Rose's cocoon. "Room for one more?"

"You tell me I look like a big green worm and now you want to share my worm costume?" She snorted. "Get lost."

He didn't move. "Come on, Rose – you're the prettiest green worm I've ever seen."

She looked supremely unimpressed.

He sighed. "What do you want me to say?"

She counted them off on her fingers. "Er, sorry for tackling me, sorry for thinking I was a worm, sorry for stopping me eating toast – which I'm half lying on, incidentally; I can feel the butter soaking through my pyjamas – and sorry for not fixing the thermostat."

"Don't you think you're being a bit harsh? Who d'you think made that toast for you?" He raised an eyebrow. "Who d'you think's been slogging away trying to fix the thermostat since the wee hours with no help? And who d'you think I was first worried about when I saw what looked like a dangerous green worm in the kitchen?"

She stared at him.

A moment later, she shifted and unwrapped the duvet. "Come on, get in. Honestly – less than two minutes of conversation with you and I feel so guilty I could cry."

"Don't," he advised her. "Toast?"