The Doctor struggled to maintain a firm grip on both his dignity, and the giggling, squirming blonde in his arms. He was hard pressed to say which was the more difficult. He was beyond grateful when he could set her down on her bed - or try to, at any rate. He'd tried to lead her, but Rose had done a wonderful impression of a jellyfish, something she thought hilarious, so he'd resorted to carrying her.
"Here you go, Rose," he said, setting her down and attempting to disentangle her arms from around his neck. "You have a nice, long kip, and you'll feel much better in the morning."
"Feel pretty good right now," she argued.
"I'll feel much better after you've slept this off."
"Sleep it off wif' me," she slurred, wiggling in what her foggy brain probably thought to be a suggestive manner.
"No."
"I wanna go back outside," Rose whinged. "S'pretty out there."
"No, Rose," the Doctor said, gently but firmly. "There's something in the air outside that's disagreeing with your metabolism." And that was his fault, always making light of standard environmental checks. He'd forgotten that just because his body could metabolize trace amounts of an element without incident, it did not automatically follow that Rose's could. He thanked any and all gods everywhere that this substance did no more than replicate a bout of silly drunkenness, fortunately without the effects of a hangover, and that his slip wouldn't cause any lasting harm to his precious girl.
"My finger hurts," Rose insisted, waving her hand in his face.
"Rose, it was one tiny needle prick, to draw one tiny drop of blood for the analyzer."
"It hurts," she repeated, pouting prettily.
Sighing resignedly, the Doctor took her hand and pressed the ghost of a kiss to the offended digit. "There. All better. Now, go to sleep."
"If something else hurt, would you kiss it better?"
"Rose!"
She continued giggling as he slipped off her shoes. Glancing around the room, the Doctor realized that all the bedclothes were pinned underneath his tipsy companion, so he shrugged out of his leather jacket and tucked it around her. One small hand immediately curled around the edge.
"I'll have that back in the morning, Rose Tyler," the Doctor informed her with mock sternness, even though Rose's eyelids were fluttering and he wasn't entirely sure she heard him.
He stood there, watching over Rose, until her breathing evened out, then he scanned her once more with the sonic. He huffed out a long breath of relief, satisfied with the readings. The Doctor's nails dug into his palms as he looked down at the sleeping girl before him. He'd gotten lucky this time. Luckier than he deserved. He softly stroked Rose's hair back from her face, then stooped to kiss her forehead.
He turned to leave, and patted the wall of the room gently. "You'll look after her, won't you, old girl?" he murmured. "Let me know if she needs anything?"
There was a rapid-fire stream of irritable chirps, just on the edge of his hearing, certainly inaudible to Rose.
It did not come as a total shock when the door refused to budge for him. "Fine. I'll look after her."
The TARDIS chimed softly in accord, and the lights dimmed to a level conducive to Rose's comfort. Not to reading or tinkering, mind you, but definitely suitable for human slumber.
"S'pose I deserved that," the Doctor agreed, settling into a chair.
"Doctor?"
"Hush, Rose. Go back to sleep."
"Wish you'd kiss me…"
"Rose!" the Doctor hissed, flushing beet red.
"Why won't you kiss me, Doctor?" she mumbled.
The Doctor pleaded silently with anyone who might be listening - stubborn ship included - to either let him out of the room or let Rose sleep off the effects of the contaminant quietly. Then he frowned and leaned closer, realizing that she was still asleep.
"Been yours since you firs' took my hand…why can't you be mine?"
"Oh, Rose…" he sighed, sinking his head into his hands. Why would this radiant child want him? A broken old soldier with more blood on his hands than the worst villain in her world's entire history? Everything he touched turned to ash. He couldn't bear the thought of his darkness besmirching her. But the truth was…
"I am yours Rose. Have been since the first time I took your hand. And I can't bear the thought of ever letting go."
He never raised his head from his hands; never saw the brief flutter of Rose's eyelids, or the gentle smile that curved her lips.