Disclaimer: "Doctor Who" is the BBC's property. I intend no infringement with this story.

Rose stood near the door with her arms folded over her chest. Her stance clearly conveyed her mild annoyance. The Doctor, of course, was oblivious to her mood. As soon as they'd returned to the TARDIS, he'd hustled to the console to set the coordinates for the void. He always seemed to be in a greater hurry than ever when it came to departing from the Powell Estates.

Granted, the visit had been less than pleasant, what with Jackie's constant sniffling, coughing, and sneezing. But that was still no excuse for the Doctor's behaviour. Rose shot him several castigating looks, but he didn't notice. Finally, she resorted to speaking.

"Bit rude, that," she said.

He looked up. "What?"

"I said, bit rude, that."

"I was rude? Thought I'd got better with that."

"Well not with m' mum."

Understanding washed over him, and the Doctor shook his head. "That wasn't rudeness. If anyone was rude, it was her."

Rose walked toward the console. "Look, she's feelin' lousy, an' all she did was ask if you had anythin' to help—"

"Right, as if I should be at her beck and call."

"That's not it. She just thought you could help, bein' the Doctor an' all."

"That's not what I do, and you and she should know that."

"Fine, whatever. But you could've been a little nicer about it."

The TARDIS gave a shudder, and Rose had to plant her feet firmly on the floor to keep her balance. The Doctor turned back to the console and began tapping at keys.

"Oh dear, that's not good," he muttered.

In less than a minute, he was completely immersed in a careful examination of a clump of wires beneath the console, his conversation with Rose entirely forgotten.

So when Rose felt that first little scratchy tickle at the back of her throat the next day, she kept it to herself. The Doctor was still preoccupied with the TARDIS. Apparently some thingamajiggy that controlled the ship's power supply was on the fritz, and repairing it was a time-consuming and delicate process.

Rose offered to help several times during the next two days, but after a few small, dry coughs and a couple of little unintended sniffles, he shooed her away, annoyed by the noises. She retreated to the kitchen for tea, to the library to try to read, and to her room for a few naps. She had hoped that she could ward off the little biological invasion, but soon she was in the midst of a full-blown and extra nasty cold, courtesy of Jackie, no doubt.

Rose kept to herself, knowing that the Doctor would not appreciate her sneezes, snuffles, and coughs. Really, she didn't even want to see him. Her nose ran like a faucet, necessitating copious wipes with tissues, which left the little sensory organ red and raw. Her eyes were watery and unpleasantly pink (she decided to ignore the sticky yellow goo that glued them shut during the night). And her throat hurt and scratched constantly, and no amount of coughing seemed to help. In short, she was in the throes of a wicked cold.

She crept to the kitchen a few times for soup and tea, always checking the hallway to be sure that the Doctor wasn't anywhere about. She watched several silly movies, but it was hard to enjoy them through her runny eyes. She didn't think she was sick enough to stay in bed, but she didn't really feel like doing anything else.

She was just finishing a big mug of tea in the kitchen when the Doctor surprised her. She hadn't even heard him in the hall, but then her ears were rather stuffed up, so maybe that wasn't quite as surprising as it seemed initially.

She stood immediately and turned to the sink, depositing her mug then trying to slip past him before he could get a good look at her. He'd just be annoyed anyway… But he was in a chatty mood, and he began talking animatedly, and it only took a minute or so before he noticed that she was hovering next to the door with her back to him.

"Rose?" he questioned. "You in a hurry to get someplace?"

"Uh uh," she responded, using the vaguish grunt in the hopes of keeping the huskiness in her voice from him.

"What've you been doing the last day or two?" he asked amiably.

She shrugged.

"Haven't seen much of you. By the way, the problem's fixed, and rather brilliantly, if I don't mind saying. Fancy a trip to Ehserefer 3? Lovely little planet with these friendly puffs called Qirraps…"

"Maybe later," Rose mumbled.

She heard him take a few steps toward her. "Rose? Something wrong?"

She shook her head. "'M okay. Just in the middle of somethin' right now—"

"What's the matter with your voice?" He reached for her arm and gently swung her around. "Blimey, Rose! You're sick?"

"Just a cold," she replied miserably. "Be fine in a day or two."

He was shaking his head at her. "Why didn't you tell me?"

"Why should I? There's nothin' you can do—you told Mum that much. You're not that kinda doctor, right?"

"Rose, I didn't mean that—"

She backed away. "Just gimme a coupla days." With that, Rose hurried down the hall to the sanctuary of her room.

Rose was a bit surprised when there was a light tapping on her door about half an hour later. She had plunked down on the bed, propped up against about ten pillows, but nothing really made her comfortable.

"Rose, it's the Doctor."

She smiled at that. Who else could it possibly be?

"May I come in?"

She really didn't feel like entertaining a visitor. However, before she could reply, he added, "Please?"

"Suit yourself," she rasped out.

The door opened, and he stepped into the room. Rose's eyes widened in surprise. He was wearing his glasses, which wasn't all that strange, although he usually only donned them when he needed to examine something close-up. In his hand, however, he held a small black case, just like the kind she'd seen in television shows about old-fashioned country doctors. He lifted the bag and grinned.

"I think you need a Doctor."

"But you're… I mean, that's not what you do. You said so yourself."

He pushed his glasses up on his nose with his index finger. "Hmm, yes. Well, I didn't really mean for it to sound like that. It was just that, in that particular situation, there wasn't much I could do."

Rose frowned a bit at the memory; really, he had been awfully rude to her mum. But then her eyes flicked to the black bag. "That yours, then?"

"Yep. I've had it for ages. I was actually quite fond of it once—used it for all sorts of things."

"An' what's it for now?"

"What's it look like?"

"I'm still not really sure."

He walked toward her and set the bag on the nightstand. "I'm making a house call."

She arched an eyebrow at him, preparing to say something witty, but a rather substantial cough interrupted her, and she spent the next thirty seconds hunched over, hacking uncomfortably. He rubbed a hand softly over her back, which she thought was rather sweet of him. Finally, she took a shaky breath and sat up.

He was watching her, eyes running over her face and flicking to the overflowing rubbish bin beside the bed. He opened the bag and looked inside. Suddenly Rose remembered just how uncomfortable doctors—at least of this sort—usually made her.

"What're you plannin' to do?" she asked warily.

He lifted his hand and moved it to press over her forehead. "This, for a start," he replied, frowning at the heat he felt. "Bit of a fever, Rose."

She shrugged. He reached into the bag and took out a thermometer. He gave it a shake then tapped her chin with his finger. "Open up."

"Oh, c'mon, even m'mum has the kind that goes in your ear."

"Oh, I have one of those, too, but somehow I'm rather fond of this one. Call it nostalgia if you like. Now open."

She sighed and parted her lips. He slid the little tube under her tongue, and Rose prepared for an annoyingly lengthy wait. She couldn't quite remember how long it usually took. Three minutes, was it? But then before she knew it he was pulling the thermometer from her mouth.

"Bit fast, wasn't it?" she asked.

He was studying the little markings. "Hmm? Oh, I made a minor modification. No sense in waiting around… Goodness, Rose, 38.7. Have you been drinking plenty of fluids?"

"S'pose so."

He reached into the bag and brought out a tongue depressor and penlight. "Open," he requested again.

Rose rolled her eyes but opened her mouth and submitted to the minor discomfort of her tongue being held down and the Time Lord peering down her throat.

"Hmm," he commented noncommittally. He seemed to spend an awfully long time staring into her mouth. Finally he said, "No signs of tonsillitis," then grinned at her as though she should feel proud of that little fact.

Next he removed an ophthalmoscope from his bag—at least that's what Rose thought it was called. He tilted up her chin and peered through the instrument into her left eye. There was a bothersomely bright light, and she squinted and tried to pull her head away, but he held her chin rather securely.

"Try to stay still," he advised, switching his attention to the other eye.

Rose complied, but she wasn't very happy about it, and she certainly wasn't very comfortable.

"Conjunctivitis—ow," he commented, setting the instrument aside and pulling another from the bag. She recognized this one as an ear-thingy; she had no idea what it was called.

He swept the hair away from her right ear and peered inside, then did the same for the left. She didn't like the feel of the device; it was cold and hard, and if his hand slipped even a little… But of course it didn't. He straightened and gave her a small smile.

"No inner ear involvement," he reported, "except for a little irritation, but that's to be expected."

"'M fine," she replied. Another cough chose that precise moment to expel itself from her chest, and when she'd finished her nose was running dreadfully. She reached for a tissue and blew hard.

"Rose! Stop that!" the Doctor said in distress.

She looked up at him with a frown of annoyance. Just because Time Lords never got colds didn't mean he had a right to tell her how to take care of hers. "How'm I supposed to get the gunk out if I don't blow?"

"You can blow, but gently. You're going to damage your Eustacian tubes if you do it that forcefully. You could even rupture an eardrum, and that's no fun. And I'm sure I don't need to tell you what that does to your sinuses." He waggled a finger at her.

"Sorry." She tossed the tissue toward the rubbish bin.

He was shaking his head in mild exasperation as he reached into the bag again. This time he produced a stethoscope, which he adjusted in his ears.

"What's that for?" Rose asked peevishly. "It's my nose that's sick, not my heart."

"I don't like the sound of that cough," he said, and he was acting terribly doctorish. He looked the part, too, and Rose tried not to think that it was all just a little bit adorable.

He glanced down at her hoodie. "Unzip it a little, please."

She thought about saying no; after all, he couldn't force her, and she rather liked the idea of refusing just to vex him. It would serve him right for the way he'd treated her mum… But her chest did hurt a bit, and it felt rather heavy, and in the back of her mind she'd wondered if maybe there was something just a tiny bit wrong. So her hand moved up to unzip the shirt. She was wearing a light cotton bra (lavender, thank you), and she made sure to pull down the zip enough to expose the undergarment. She thought that would teach him to go all doctor on her.

He was, unfortunately, unfazed and simply pressed the instrument up against her chest, just above her left breast then just above the right. "Deep breath," he requested. He was bent over her, and she couldn't see his face.

Then he motioned to the hoodie. "Could you remove it please?" he asked politely and professionally.

Rose shrugged out of the garment. He shifted around to her back and spent some time moving the stethoscope around in various places, listening intently the entire time. Rose was beginning to get a little worried; she felt her heart speeding up.

Finally he stepped back in front of her.

"Somethin' wrong?" she asked as casually as she could.

"Hmm?" He was putting the instrument back into the bag and appeared preoccupied with the small task. "No, everything's fine."

"You spent an awful long time on that," she complained.

He smiled benignly. "Just being thorough. Now what else?" He rummaged through the bag.

"I think you've checked everything that might be related to my cold," she said. Really, enough was enough…

"True," he replied, "but since I'm here, I may as well give you a good once-over. I have lots more instruments in here, and I hardly ever get a chance to use them. What do you say?" He grinned happily, apparently pleased to have a new project now that he'd finished his latest efforts with the TARDIS.

Rose grabbed her hoodie and put it on, then folded her arms over her chest. "No."

"Pardon me?"

"I said no. Look, I appreciate that you're tryin' to help, but if there's nothin' you can do, what's the point?"

"Oh, I never said there was nothing I could do, did I?"

Rose exhaled with a snort (surely that was just due to the congestion in her nose). "You did! That's what you told m'mum!"

"Oh, right. There wasn't anything I could easily do for her, but I can certainly help you."

"But she had a cold, just like I do! I'm sure I caught it from her—"

"Probably. But she lives in London in 2006, and I can't very well go giving her the cure for the common cold, now can I? Believe me, Rose, your mum wouldn't be able to keep something like that to herself, and people would find out, and trust me, it wouldn't end up nicely for her."

"What are you on about?" Rose's head was beginning to ache. She rubbed at her brow.

"Someone would hear about it, then they'd want to know what she took, and she wouldn't have any more because I'd only give her one, that's all it takes. But they'd want to find out anyway, and they'd have no other recourse but to study her, to question her, to take blood, and run tests and analyses."

"So you weren't refusing to help her because you didn't want to. You were doin' it because in the long run you thought it was best for her. 'Am I gettin' this right?"

He grinned and nodded enthusiastically. "Exactly!"

She massaged her forehead and wished that her eyes didn't hurt quite so much. They were beginning to water again. Something cool and soft touched her brow, and she realized that the Doctor was resting two fingers against her head.

"Does it hurt here?"

She nodded. She was really too tired to argue with him anymore.

"Little sinus infection coming on, I think. I told you not to blow so hard. But no worries. I'll take care of it."

She blinked at him through the burning tears. "Yeah?"

"Oh yeah. Didn't I just say that it only takes one pill?" He reached into the bag again and removed a small bottle. He flipped off the cap and shook out a little, turquoise tablet then held it out to her.

She took it and began to put it in her mouth, but he sprinted away with a hasty "wait!" then returned half a minute later with a glass of water.

"Drink it all," he recommended. "You need to stay hydrated."

Rose swallowed the pill and downed the water, and when she'd finished she found him standing by the door, glasses off and bag in hand.

"You'll feel good as new in about two hours," he said.

"That's it?"

He nodded happily. "Yep." He placed his hand on the doorknob.

"Wait a minute!" Rose cried. "Get back in here."

"Do you need something else?" he asked innocently.

"If all I needed was one little pill—the same pill you could've given m'mum—then what was all that about?" She waved a hand toward the bag.

He lifted it. "Thought you'd feel more confident in me if I looked and acted the part."

Rose humphed. "Not really. You could've just given me the pill. That would've been fine."

"Well, I had to be sure that it was the right one."

"You couldn't tell that I had a cold just by lookin' at me? What sort of doctor are you, anyway?" She rolled her eyes, but that action only made her head ache more. She pressed her fingers over her temples and closed her eyes.

He didn't answer her. But when she opened her eyes again she saw him next to the bed. His expression was kind and sympathetic.

"Lie down, Rose," he said gently.

"Why?" she asked suspiciously.

He fluffed the pillows. "You'll feel better if you do. I think I have just the thing for your headache."

She glanced at the bag again then back at his face. He looked very sincere. Rose sighed and let her head sink down against the pillows. She closed her eyes, resigned to whatever freaky alien thing he planned to do to her.

After a minute she felt something wonderfully cool drape over her forehead. She opened her eyes to see the Doctor settling into the chair next to the bed. When she reached up she found that he'd placed a cold, damp washcloth over her brow.

"Better?" he asked.

"A little."

He smiled. "Good."

"You plannin' to stay here?"

"If you don't mind. You might need something…"

She reached for his hand. "No more bag of tricks, yeah?"

He appeared just a bit disappointed for a moment, but he nodded. "Yeah."

Rose closed her eyes again and let sleep wash over her.

The Doctor remained by her side, his fingers wrapped gently around her hand for many minutes after she'd fallen asleep. He listened to her labored breathing, waiting for the drugs to kick in. She'd managed to pick up one hell of a cold. Actually it was a great deal more serious than a cold, but he had no plans to tell her that. If he hadn't caught it when he did, the pneumonia would have become life-threatening within hours. That didn't mean, of course, that he wouldn't have been able to cure her. He would. But he'd much rather it didn't come to that.

His eyes wandered to the black bag. So many memories were scratching just below the surface of his consciousness. There was a time, very long ago, when he'd dedicated himself to healing others. He'd enjoyed it immensely. But that was many lifetimes in the past. He still had the knowledge and the skill, but he was loath to use it unless it was absolutely necessary.

He wished that Rose had agreed to let him examine her further. He could probably run a couple of scans without any trouble while she was sleeping, and he planned to do just that in the next few days. The virus she'd contracted didn't usually affect humans. The distinctive coloring of her conjunctiva had alerted him to the particular strain; she'd probably picked it up at the hospital on New Earth. She'd be all right now, thanks to the pharmacological synthesizer tucked inside the black bag. He'd been able to program it to create the appropriate medication as soon as he knew what was wrong with her.

But something was different about Rose. Some subtle change had occurred in her biochemistry, and he needed to find out what it was. He hoped it wasn't serious. Her heart was already beating at a slightly altered rhythm, and he'd detected a minor alteration in her papillary response. His otoscope, modified to assess brain activity through the ear, had revealed subtle neurological changes, too. These things were not necessarily detrimental; indeed, they might portend a change for the better, at least as far as her physiology was concerned.

He held her hand a bit more tightly, feeling the soft swoosh of blood through the vein beneath his fingertips.

He bent his head to kiss her hand, softly, almost imperceptibly.

"Rose Tyler," he whispered, "what have you become?"

A short sequel is possible if I receive feedback indicating interest…