Rose began to scoot back from the Doctor instantly, dropping her gaze to the floor with a muttered, "'M sorry."

"For what?" he asked.

She gestured awkwardly toward her face with trembling hands. "This. I know it's stupid an' human an' weak—"

"What?"

"An' you shouldn't've had to see it," she continued, oblivious to his query. "I know you didn't want to, an' I get it, I get that you're disappointed, that you thought I'd be better than this—"

"C'mere," he said abruptly, moving forward to pull her into his arms again. "I don't know what the hell you're talkin' about. Must be the fever."

She blinked at him. "Huh?" was the best she could manage.

He pressed his palm to her cheek again. "You're runnin' a fever. Don't know how I didn't notice before, unless it came on suddenly."

Suddenly she understood why he'd frowned. It hadn't been displeasure with her; it had been concern.

"I'm sick?" she asked incredulously.

"Looks like. But luckily you've got your very own, very brilliant Doctor, and I'll have you put to rights before you know it." He hopped to his feet and held out his hand. "Come on, Rose Tyler, bed's the best place for you."

She stood on shaky legs and found that she had to lean against him for support as they walked to her room. Truth be told, she was a little dizzy. He eased her down onto the bed and handed her the nightshirt she'd tossed over the footboard that morning.

"Get changed, and I'll be back soon," he instructed benevolently.

Languorously Rose shed her clothes and slipped on the soft flannel nightshirt. She'd just settled back against the pillows when he returned bearing a large tray. She saw a teapot and cup but couldn't quite make out the other items. After setting his burden on her dresser, he sat down beside her.

He felt her forehead then took a few moments to scrutinize her, his gaze moving slowly over her with an intensity that made her wonder if he had a bit of x-ray vision in addition to being slightly psychic. He reached into his pocket to withdraw the sonic screwdriver then ran it over her carefully.

"Hmm. Heart rate and respiration are up a bit, and your lungs are a little congested," he reported. "You said your chest hurt?"

She nodded. "Thought it was just from, y'know, keepin' everything in."

He smiled sympathetically. "I'm sure that was part of it. But looks like there was a physical cause, too."

He placed one hand on her chest and the other against her back, closing his eyes in concentration as she inhaled and exhaled according to his instructions. After perhaps half a minute, he gave a nod then stood to retrieve a small device from the tray.

"This'll take and analyze a blood sample," he told her, pressing the instrument over her wrist.

Rose prepared for the sting of a needle, but she felt only a brief little thump, then the Doctor pulled the device away and studied the read-out. "Right, just as I thought. We've got some nasty streptococcus pneumoniae swooshin' about in your bloodstream."

"Pneumoniae?" she repeated. "Does that mean I've got pneumonia?"

"Yep." He smiled reassuringly. "But nothing to worry about; we've caught it early. It's just beginning. You must've been exposed a few days ago. I'll get you some beta-lactam antibiotics an' you'll be fine by tomorrow."

"'S that why I was feelin' so crappy?" she asked.

"Probably, at least in part. Don't know where you picked it up, though."

"Funny, that's what my mum still says when she tells me about the other time I had it."

He cocked an eyebrow. "Other time? When was that?"

"When I was a baby, just after…" She swallowed. "Just after we lost Dad."

He rolled his eyes. "You really shouldn't have touched the baby."

"The baby?" It took a few seconds for her foggy brain to process the subtext of his words. But when she did, she shook her head. "No. No way."

"Yep."

"You're sayin' I gave myself pneumonia?"

"Yep."

Her head was beginning to spin. "So the baby me gave it to me-me?"

He shrugged. "Could be. Or might be the other way round."

"Wait… I gave it to her because she gave it to me?"

"Causality when you travel in time's a hell of a thing, isn't it?" he grinned.

Rose pressed her hands over her face with a groan. She felt him touch her arm and looked up at him. He was holding a mug of tea.

"Here, Rose, drink this while I fetch your medicine."

She sipped the wonderfully warm, slightly sweet beverage. It seemed to alleviate the tightness in her chest just a bit, and by the time she'd finished, she felt very sleepy. She'd just set the mug on her night table when the Doctor returned.

He glanced at the empty mug. "Good girl."

"Tasted nice," she replied.

He handed her two shockingly yellow tablets. "These'll clear up the pneumonia in a few hours."

He poured a little more tea, and she swallowed the pills. Her eyelids were so heavy now; she hadn't felt such a strong urge to sleep in several days. Unbidden, her head dropped down to her chest.

She was vaguely aware of the Doctor's hands behind her head and shoulders as he eased her back to lie against the pillows. She thought she heard him say something about dreams, too, but it was all a soft blur as slumber claimed her fully.

Rose woke slowly. She was curled on her side, covers tucked up around her shoulders. She felt very relaxed, her limbs loose and languid amid the soft sheets. Gradually the gentle, pleasant haze of lingering slumber left her and she opened her eyes.

She'd just sat up to stretch when she heard a light tapping on her half-open door.

"Come in," she croaked, surprised by the scratchiness of her voice.

The Doctor stepped into the room, smiling as his gaze moved appraisingly over her. "You're lookin' better," he said.

She shook her head. "Must look a right mess," she countered good-naturedly. She pushed a few errant strands of hair back from her face.

"Nope." He was beside her now, lifting a hand to her brow. "Color's good, fever's gone, an' you've had a nice, long sleep—ten an' a half hours."

She waited for the inevitable comment about how human apes slept away their lives, but it didn't come. Instead, he said, "You needed it."

"S'pose I did," she conceded.

"So, feelin' better?"

"Much."

"Looks like you're just about well. But I'm gonna give you another dose of antibiotics, just in case, an' I think we'll take it easy today."

"You don't need t'do that on my account," she began.

He sat down on the mattress, placing his hand gently over hers. "Yeah, I think I do. You've had a rough couple a' days." There was no disapproval or judgment in his tone, only understanding and perhaps a hint of regret.

"How about we start with breakfast?" she suggested.

"You gonna make fun of my cookin' again?" he asked with a mock frown.

"Depends. You gonna make somethin' edible?" she replied teasingly.

"For you, Rose, my best toast and marmalade, an' I'll even throw in some scrambled eggs."

Her stomach rumbled agreeably. "Sounds perfect."

He stood. "Gimme ten minutes."

He was nearly to the door when Rose shot from the bed with surprising alacrity. She wrapped her arms around him and buried her face against his chest. "Thanks," she murmured.

His hand found her hair, and he gave it an affectionate stroke. "You're welcome, Rose."

There were many words that both could have spoken, but for now, those few were more than enough.

The End