Cupid's Arrow
Rose rested her head on his brown pinstriped shoulder, as they sat in the sunshine, with dappling shade from the fragrant flowering trees overhead. Pretty, those trees, if you ignored the deadly three-foot spikes along their limbs. No time lines to fix, no one to save. They could just sit here and peer up at fluffy clouds in the purple sky. She quietly alien-watched, as the milling crowds enjoyed the fair; bickering families, hormone-blissed lovers, friends cracking jokes. Almost all of them busy greedily eating things off a stick.
"Glad we gave trouble a holiday," she said. "S'peaceful."
A vendor with mounds of iridescent pink and blue fluffy stuff on a stick wandered by. She picked up her head, ready to excitedly call out for what she hoped was candyfloss.
He stopped her, warning, "You don't want that."
"Why not?"
"Spun from crickets. Well, what passes for crickets here."
"1,001 foods on a stick, and haven't seen one I can stomach yet," she complained.
"You haven't been but to the first fifty or so booths," he admonished.
"Sorry, but the 1,001st Annual 1,001 Foods on a Stick Festival hasn't been the highlight of my year, after all."
"C'mon, I know just the thing. Flea market nearby, '1,001 Booths of Fantastic Stuff from Around the Galaxy!' That's what the advert said, they were handing out flyers over by the Snadge-Pudding-on-a-Stick." He stood and held out a hand to hoist her to her feet. "I know there's a transmat platform somewhere nearby that can take us to it." He gazed around for it. "There it is. Shop till we drop!"
"Think I'm already about to drop, but I'm game. Though, what's with there being 1,001 of everything on this planet?"
"1,001 is a fine number, Rose. For one thing, it's sphenic, the product of three positive primes, and it's the twenty-sixth pentagonal number, oh, and it's a palindrome."
"In other words, good marketing," Rose concluded, watching him smile. She could tell he felt rather impressive just now, and that always made him happy.
They stepped onto the small transmat port and punched up the command for the flea market on the pad provided.
Arriving, they stepped off and saw stretching to the horizon row after row of canvas-tented stalls and open tables, brimming with stuff and shoppers of every description.
"Ooo," he exclaimed excitedly, spying something a few dozen yards down one of the rows, and held out his hand to pull her off to it.
Stopping in front of the booth, Rose saw what had him suddenly transfixed: stacks of battered, greenish-colored pots and pans.
"Gone a bit moldy, haven't they?" she commented.
"Shang dynasty bronzes, Rose!" he exclaimed, grinning like a boy at Christmas. "I was thinking the Tardis could use a little "shin-was-reee." He said it like it was the sexiest thing a Tardis could have. "Chinoiserie," he repeated, making his eyebrows dance.
The stall's vendor rose from a stool and Rose watched him (her?) shuffle towards them, his (her?) eyes (all six) widening in what Rose supposed was a hopeful smile.
"Hello," she greeted it. It bowed.
The Doctor reverently traced his fingers along the piles of patinated vessels. "The rarest of artifacts from Earth's Bronze Age, Rose, cast by clever artisans along the banks of the mighty Yellow River, the river they called the Hwang Ho, used for offering wine to the gods of rain." He hefted up a heavily decorated three-footed cauldron, examining its motifs more closely, and cooed to it softly, "I once stubbed my toe along the Hwang Ho..."
Stretching the tip of his tongue out to it, he lightly licked its rim. Swirling the taste around in his mouth for a moment, he seemed confused. He suddenly thrust the cauldron over his head, and scanned its base for identifying marks, finding a little purple sticker.
"Made on Poosh," he read aloud, then turned on his heels and disgustedly tossed it over his shoulder back onto the pile.
Rose had to steady the wares to stop them all from coming down in a heap.
"Sorry," she apologized to the disappointed shopkeeper, and hurried away after the Doctor, who was already four booths down, his coat tails snapping out behind him, nose up in that peevish air he put on sometimes.
Catching up to him she scolded, "You nearly took out that display."
"Deserved it," he pouted, "trying to pass off cheap googaws as priceless antiques."
She laughed a full, deep laugh that brightened his eyes a bit in spite of himself. "No one was passing off anything. They had stickers. You're just put out you didn't know it straight off," she teased him. She quietly repeated, "Made on Poosh." Then giggled, "Ha ha ha, I said 'Poosh'."
"Made on Poosh," he echoed, then grinned. "Poosh," he said again, savoring the "oo" in the middle.
They began taking turns saying "Poosh," then it devolved into Rose counting down "3,2,1…" and both yelling "Poosh!" simultaneously.
"Snap!" Rose cried.
"Yanks would say you owe me a coke," the Doctor noted.
"No, that's 'jinx' and I called it so you owe me a coke," Rose replied.
They'd made their way to a junction of rows where there was another transmat port and a map posted next to it of all the various sections in the market.
"Mmm, this corner's a bit dull, what I really want is…ah!" He jabbed his finger at a spot about three quarters of the way to the back on the right hand side of the map. "Yo-yo's!"
"Know any tricks?" Rose asked.
He scoffed and began fishing in his left coat pocket."But of course. Excellent for detecting gravity." He pulled out a battered yellow yo-yo and held it up, slowly twirling at the end of a short bit of frayed cotton. "String broke," he murmured sadly.
"Yo-yo's it is, then." Rose stepped with him onto the transmat. The Doctor punched in the code and they stepped off into an area that was decidedly pink.
"Looks a bit Amoureusian," the Doctor noted.
"Yo-Yo's Potions & Notions," read a pink and gold and glitter and fuzzy feather sign, set before a large pink tent. What looked like a cherub from old Earth's Renaissance period came flitting out over their heads, then zoomed off, all pink and round baby fat with buzzing gossamer wings .
"Pinch me, I think I just saw Cupid!" Rose exclaimed.
"The Amoureusians are fruitarians," he said, as if that was a full explanation. Taking in Rose's blank look, he elaborated. "That was a juvenile. They hover in the air to pollinate their orchards. Off the ground, safe from predators. When they become adults they shed their wings and get rather - hairy. Amoureuse made quite a name for itself as a posh honeymoon destination for New New Earthers, for a while. But the natives do tend to bite, so the popularity's come down a bit."
"Do they have tiny little bows and arrows?" Rose laughed as she went in and began looking around the tables of pink things.
He stayed planted outside the entrance, calling after her, "No yo-yo's at Yo-Yo's, then. My mistake. So, let's move on, allons-y and all that, yes?" He shifted from foot to foot, one leg wanting to do anything except walk into the tent and the other leg wanting to do nothing except follow Rose around.
She ignored him for the moment, and wandered about, stopping to look at a display of pretty pink glass bottles. One especially caught her eye, a short but intricate hand-blown iridescent piece with a curlicued stopper. Picking it up she saw it was half filled with some kind of liquid.
With a mischievous smile, she held up the bottle to get his attention and gave it a little wiggle. She called to him, "Wonder if this is a potion or a notion?" He looked away. "Maybe it's a love potion," she added, loudly, and tried to give him an exaggerated wink, but he was busy looking at the sky now, scanning intently for signs of alien invasion, no doubt. "Think I'll have it," she continued. He did not reply, but he did finally stroll in, with an air of infinite disinterest, hands in pockets. She knew he was uncomfortable and was enjoying herself immensely.
A burly female lumbered over, just as hairy as the Doctor had described, to begin haggling over price.
The Doctor sidled up next to Rose and whispered in her ear, "Careful not to get her irritated." She looked at him and he pantomimed a big hairy Amoureusian adult giving someone a big toothy chomp.
Agreeing on a price, the Doctor gallantly offered to pay, which made Rose give him a little kiss on his cheek after she told him he was sweet. The saleslady wrapped the bottle up for Rose in a bit of pink tissue, held shut with a glittery pink heart-shaped sticker. "He's got two of those, you know," she told the shopkeeper, gesturing toward the Doctor and then the sticker. She successfully got a wink in this time, as he looked on, startled, and she thought his eyes widened to the point where they might crawl off his head when the shopkeeper put a second heart on her package.
Walking back out into the afternoon sunshine, Rose realized she still didn't know what was actually in the bottle. "Wasn't any kind of warning label. Wonder if you're supposed to drink all of it at once? Wonder what it does? You don't think it might be dangerous, do you?"
The Doctor was studying the transmat's map again. "Nah, totally harmless," he replied. "All nostrums, their stuff, strictly for tourists. Most likely outcome's you'll require a peppermint Rennie for your stomach."
She slipped the little package into one of her hoodie's pockets. Her stomach rumbled loudly, reminding her she still hadn't eaten today. "Hey," she remembered, and gave him a nudge, "you owe me a Coke."
"All the wonders of the universe, Rose, here at our fingertips, and you want a Coca-Cola? What about trying a nice sparkling Gallaxian punch, or a creamy glass of warm lactic excretion from a friendly Sontaran? Wait, never mind, Sontaran milk is a powerful soporific. Helps them unwind, but it would put you out for days."
Rose shuddered. "That's not the main reason I'll take a pass on that idea, thank you."
"Ah, I see there's cricket grounds to our north! I used to be quite the bowler. Amazing how cricket has taken over the galaxy. Fancy taking in an evening match? Likely to be Earth foods about. Chips. Coca-Cola. Maybe even a nice curry on a stick?"
"Yeah, all right," she agreed, and they ported themselves away.
"Hmm, supposed to be a One Day Intergalactic on," he replied. "Ah, here come some players!" Three identical and very pale humanoids, wearing identical white jumpers, and one large, long bug that looked like a cricket had arrived on the field.
The Doctor and Rose moved down the hill to a good viewing distance, the Doctor spreading his top coat on the ground for them to sit on.
"What sort of aliens are these, then?" Rose asked, settling down to watch the preparations below.
"The insectoid is from the local sentient species, the Gryllids." He thought about it for a moment and then added, "Brilliant! A cricket playing cricket! The other three are Treblorian. Born as identical triplets. Spend their entire lives together. Bit of a hive mind."
Rose watched them begin setting up. "Must be the Home side, these blokes," she noted. The Gryllid began laying down fresh markings for boundary lines and creases with chalky pinkish excretions from its mouth, its palpi working busily. "Don't tell me, that stuff it's spitting, that woulda been my candyfloss," Rose said, shuddering.
Eleven floating orbs of blue light quietly glided by them, then moved off down the hill and stopped to hover in one of the dugouts. "Appears Visiting has arrived, too," Rose noted. The orbs began elongating into columnar forms, but with no distinguishing appendages, or faces for that matter. "How they gonna play with no hands?" Rose wondered.
"They're Figurarae. Shapeshifters. They'll manifest bodies in a tick," the Doctor explained.
Rose counted the sides again and noticed that Home didn't have enough players to make a team. "Looks like we may have to forfeit."
"Well, the Gryllid counts for six players. Six legs. Could be almost a whole team itself, but regulation states they have to keep their antennae, palpi, and cerci out of play," he explained. "And the ovipositor, if he, uh, she, has one."
Counting again, Rose said, "They're still short two."
The Doctor gave her a wide smile. "Care to play?"
"But we don't have any whites to wear," she replied.
"Neither will the Figurarae, too much trouble to manifest clothing, they'll be naked, so we'll fit right in." He paused then turned red. "I mean, we're not going to be naked, no, definitely not us, not naked, of course not, I just meant whites aren't required, that's all, not that we'd be naked," he added, forcing himself to stop speaking so the word "naked" wouldn't have to jump out of his gob again. They stood up and he busied himself brushing grass from his topcoat as he gathered it up and re-donned it.
"Aren't you up for some starkers cricket?" Rose suggested.
He just gave a muffled "Hmph," in reply.
She continued to tease him as they trotted down the hill. "Positively Victorian, you are," she said.
The Doctor approached one of the Treblorians, who was just finishing gingerly placing the last of the bails across the stumps on the near wicket.
"Good day! Lovely day for it. Looks like you're short two, though. I'm the Doctor." The Treblorian bowed. "This is Rose." Rose gave a little wave. "Could we offer you our services?"
The other Treblorians wandered over to join their sibling, and gathering in a little group of three, quietly stared at the ground. The Doctor said softly aside to Rose, "They're communing."
The Gryllid, done vomiting the last of the boundary line, hopped to the pitch in two easy strokes of his powerful hind legs. Rose could see why he'd count for six fielders.
"Hello there," he repeated. "Come to see if you need more players. Oh, just happen to have my Intergalactic Cricket Association card on me." The Doctor fished a small laminated card out of his pocket and presented it to the insectoid. "Might have lapsed…been a few years. But I was quite the bowler in my day." The Gryllid politely looked at the card and waved its antennae. "Known for my right-arm leg spin delivery. Got off a few competent 'googlies', now and again," he added, hopefully.
Rose noticed the prolonged silence of the Treblorians was unnerving her friend. In fact, the Doctor was beginning to look like a boy afraid of being picked last for a schoolyard game. He had begun bouncing from foot to foot, and twirling his arms about, in a manic sort of warm-up. He raised his voice and declared, with as much confidence as he could muster, "But I imagine in this body I'm more a fast-pitch man."
Quietly in his ear, Rose said, "Don't worry, Doctor, if they don't pick you, we can always have a go on the seesaw, or I'll let you push me on the swings."
The Treblorians broke their huddle and one stepped forward. "Agreed. Welcome. Introductions. Ned." He bowed. "Ted." Another bowed. "Ed." Now the third bowed. Pointing to the Gryllid, the spokesman continued, "Rectardius Bob." It clacked its palpi and rubbed its two front legs together.
Rose's eyebrows climbed into her hairline. She whispered to the Doctor, "Not a talkative bunch, are they?"
Down in the dugout for the Visiting side, the Figurarae had finished manifesting into more humanoid shapes. Each one was a different color, ranging from red to violet, as a courtesy to help tell them apart, no doubt. A shimmering effect made them appear lit from within, and Rose thought they were the loveliest aliens she'd ever seen, even if they had not bothered to manifest heads. And yes, they were evidently naked, but seeing as they were uniformly smooth it did not much matter.
An umpire had arrived, a light orange humanoid of some kind or another, as had about a dozen spectators. Ned, who was evidently Captain, and a deep Violet from Visiting met for the coin toss. Home won, but Ned elected to field first. He quickly assigned them their positions.
"Rose, wicket-keeper. Doctor, bowl. Bob, forward short leg, backward short leg, square leg, deep fine leg..." It was clear Bob got the idea. Silently communicating to his brothers, the triplets moved out to cover any positions Bob wouldn't be able to bound to quickly enough should a ball come their way.
A brilliant Yellow took up the runner's spot at the bowling wicket, and seemed to be watching the Doctor with curiosity, as he continued his preparatory calisthenics. "Come to study my technique?" the Doctor preened, and began some vigorous squats. "First Law of Thermodynamics. Conservation of Motion. Load up the spine with kinetic energy and snap it forward like a rubber band. Secret's in locking your front leg upon delivery, you know."
"Start of play," called the umpire. Everyone was ready. Violet was the first striker, and was patiently waiting at his crease in front of Rose. But the Doctor was still fannying about, running in place now, his knees almost striking his chin, madly windmilling his arms, oblivious to the rest of the field. He had begun telling a story about a time he'd bowled a trideca maiden over in a test between two colonies in the G38 globular cluster of Galaxy M31 when the umpire repeated, "START OF PLAY!"
"Right, sorry," the Doctor said, and he walked out, way out, into the field. Farther than Rose believed she had seen anyone do, to begin a run-up. She wondered if there was not some rule? He was all the way to the edge before he stopped. Slowly at first, the Doctor began bounding forward like a pole-jumper, then his stride turned into faster and faster leaping, as his head drew down and back as if he were doing the limbo. It looked ridiculous, but if anyone doubted his approach, they were left in awe of his actual delivery. He'd been correct - this body was wizard at fast pitch.
Drawing the ball in tight to his waist as he reached the bowling crease, he took one last enormous leap into the air, his back foot coming down elegantly just behind the popping crease, then lightly collapsing sideways as his forward leg locked, sending all of the loaded energy coursing towards his now-whirling right arm, his spine snapping forward like a whip from hips to shoulders, keeping time with his hand coming up high and over, to release the ball just at the right moment to deliver the perfect good-length screamer. The Violet batsman had no hope of responding, and he was bowled most soundly as the Doctor's ball flew straight into the middle stump, tossing both of the bails exuberantly into the air.
The umpire signaled "Out" for the batsman as the Doctor stumbled a few more steps down the pitch, scrubbing off the last of his energy. He gave Rose a wild grin as he neared her, then veered off for a victory lap back up the pitch, raising his hands up high, his hair flopping about in a most glorious fashion. She laughed and realized she'd rarely seen him this happy.
To her delight, and his, his astonishing performance continued and the crowd of spectators was growing. The Doctor easily bowled Orange and Magenta, then delivered a rather aggressive leg-before-wicket to poor Turquoise. Red was finally able to make contact, but he was quickly caught out by Bob's middle right leg. A maiden over was definitely afoot.
The Doctor would have had it, too, but a slight miscalculation on his sixth delivery sent a bouncer veering too far to the left and Rose, springing into action to catch it, was forced down hard to the ground. The umpire called it wide, and the Doctor had to set up for another go.
Rose felt all warm and fuzzy and so very proud of him now, this beautiful man, he was like nothing else in all the universe, so charming and honest and slim and foxy. Out there bowling his hearts out. She wanted to see him this full of energy and joy every day, forever and ever, and she found herself hollering out lustily to him, "Atta boy, Doctor! Jes' mind yer balls!" Turning round to the umpire, she said, "I don't believe I'd mind 'em, not one bit." She gave the umpire a wink. "Unless..." She began worrying her bottom lip with her teeth. What if they were weird? She suddenly had to know.
"Doctor!" She screamed to him, and he halted in mid-approach, on full alert, alarmed at the urgency in her tone. He began to run to her, but slowed when his brain processed the fact that she looked perfectly fine. In fact, she looked rather relaxed.
"Yer Albert Halls! You got jes' the two of 'em, right? No tentacles?" she continued.
The field had grown quiet, as had the spectators. The Doctor threw his hands in the air, gesturing a puzzled, "What?"
"Yer BALLS. How many ya' got?"
He looked down at his hand clutching just the one cricket ball. He decided to ignore her and continue on as if nothing was happening. Easier that way, though it was hard to ignore the back of his neck, as it was beginning to turn very itchy.
He managed to deliver again, but he was distracted now, and clumsily bowled an air over boundary for six to Green. Green and Yellow, Green and Yellow, Green and Yellow, the Visiting players took their runs.
The Doctor looked up the pitch to Rose, and was horrified to see her start bellowing at him again.
"Oi, Doctor! Love yer length, nice 'n long, and yer line, ya got great lines, but maybe right at the end ya could give it a nice swirrrrl, eh?" She was rolling her hips suggestively, evidently to demonstrate how she wanted him to put a spin on things at the end of his delivery. It hit him -that damn potion she'd put in her pocket. It must have spilled on her when she fell.
He was in the midst of trying to decide what to do next, very aware that all eyes were on them, when she called out to him again. "Hey, yer bits-they ain't all smooth like Rainbow Brite here?" She rudely pointed at the appendage-less Yellow batsman, who had taken up position just before her at the crease.
Ned approached the Doctor, his face full of concern. "I suspect your female has entered estrus. Do you not wish to retire and mate with her?"
Mortified, the Doctor threw his cricket ball to the ground and growled, "Enough." Springing into action, he ran up the pitch to Rose, and without saying a word threw her smoothly over his right shoulder, and began stalking off the field.
Very much liking the new direction things were taking, she began giggling. "Tits up!" she screamed out as she went upside-down, and tried to wave goodbye to their teammates with a hand that was now dangling helplessly down the Doctor's back.
He marched up the hill with her, back toward the Tardis. His suspicion was correct-his bowling had indeed hit and broken that damned potion bottle and it had gotten all over her. The pocket and hem of her hoodie and the top of her jeans were saturated with it. Pressed as she was to him now, he could pick out the smell of the chemicals, and was pretty sure he knew what they were. "Harmless," he'd told her. Harmless to him. He wouldn't be affected, which was a small blessing, because at least they wouldn't end up rutting around together right here in the grass like animals. A momentary twinge of regret was instantly shoved back into the grotty recesses of his subconscious where it belonged.
He began bitterly chastising himself, whinging to the sky. "Quite right, just what I was hoping for today. Care for an accidental poisoning, Rose? Come along, then. Oh, there's no need to identify random unmarked liquids before you put them in your pocket, where would be the fun in that? But let's make certain when it does end up spilling all over you, once I've aggressively assaulted you with a cricket ball, that it's a highly potent, enactogenic, transdermally active alien love potion. Surprised, though, it was in a bottle. More expected it'd COME ON A STICK!"
Realizing they were heading away from all the fun Rose began to protest. "But I don't wanna go home!" Rose wailed. "We were winnin'!"
"No, we weren't," he replied, irritated and secretly embarrassed that he had not delivered on his opening boasts.
"This is pants!" she complained, wriggling to get down. "I wanted t' bat!" Her writhing caused her to shift precariously backward on the Doctor's shoulders, and he had to grab at her bum to hoist her back up. "Ooo!" Rose purred, stopping mid-moan. "Do that again."
She found her attention transfixed by the long, cool fingers gripping her right wrist, and the lean, strong arm and wide, well-muscled shoulder thrust between her thighs. She began to watch the provocative movement going on under the back of his topcoat. Reaching down, she hoisted up his tails with her dangling left hand. "Good day, yer Majesty," she called out to what she found underneath.
"Beg your pardon?" the Doctor asked over his shoulder.
"Jus' talking to yer Queen Mum," she cheerily replied, and tried to bring her hand up to give his left cheek a pinch. Sadly her movement just made his coat come back down to cover up all that delicious, firm pistoning that was going on under there, so she settled for sticking her face into his neck and inhaling deeply. "Mmmm," she said. "Doctor-y."
He could see the Tardis in the distance. Just another couple hundred yards, he thought, gritting his teeth. She blessedly kept relatively quiet the rest of the way, though she began trying to squeeze his right arse cheek through his coat, but she could not muster the coordination to pull it off, making her grunt with frustration. Reaching the door he set her down and fished out his key. He grabbed her by the elbow and ushered her in and towards the medical bay.
"Speakin' a pants," Rose said (and the Doctor was hard pressed to recall when they had been speaking about pants), "wanted to ask 'bout yours for ages."
"What?" he squeaked, realizing that they'd now reached the subject of his knickers.
"C'mon, give it up. Boxers or briefs?" Not getting an immediate reply, she lunged at him, trying to get under the back of his coat again. "Jus' need a peek, luv, down the back a your trou'," she said.
"Rose, stop it, here's the infirmary, go in, please." Thank everyone's gods, everywhere, he thought, this would be over soon. He spoke to her indulgently, like she was a small child. "Get on the table, Rose, that's a good girl." He activated an above-bed scanner to give him precise vitals on her. He felt a wash of relief at seeing all the numbers that really counted coming back normal. There had been no damage to her liver, yet.
He reached into a drawer and brought out a hand-held device that would give him a quick analysis of the toxins in her body. He lifted it to her. "Please blow into this for me." She complied, but very slowly. Locking eyes with him, she lipped the instrument, ran the bottom of her tongue over its top rim, and then took it into her mouth way farther than necessary, before huffing out loudly.
He pretended not to notice her wanton behavior, clamping his attention on the display at his end. The results showed he'd been correct as to the identity of the psychoactive chemicals. He fished around in a cabinet for a moment then returned to her with a small glass vial of an appropriate blocker, and an injector.
Perched on the edge of the exam table, swinging her feet and smiling, Rose was a picture of loopy bliss. Her hair was all mussed from being upside down, half of it hanging in her eyes. As he approached with the injector, she leaned forward to speak intimately into his face, so that he had to dodge around her head to see what he was doing. Her warm breath tickling his nose, she continued on about his pants. "Hope they ain't plain white cotton briefs, that'd be a shame. 'Cause you, sir," she said, leaning back to stroke her hands up and down his chest, "you're a right Lord, ain't ya? 'N I think you rate somethin' sexy."
He tried to concentrate on checking the dosage a second time. "Rose, hold still, I'm going to give you something to counteract the effects."
As the injector hissed the medicine into her neck, she leered at his groin and said, in a slow, sultry tone, "I'd like t' see yer little time lord in a tight, blue, soft, silk tonga." She grazed up his body slowly with her eyes. "Yes, indeed," she concluded, meeting his startled gaze, then clicked her tongue against her teeth and poked it out at him.
"Give it a second and you won't anymore," he said, and with a sigh turned his back and began to put the things away, forcing his body to stop being interested in this ridiculous conversation. Rose had been poisoned, and in a few minutes she'd be completely mortified. He kicked himself for pointlessly putting her at risk like this. Getting into scrapes defending timelines and saving planets, that was one thing, she'd signed on for that, but this was just stupid.
Quickly taking effect, the medication began clearing all the delicious, warm feelings out of Rose's mind. She was sorry to see them go. She slumped back with a glazed expression, then brought her hand to her forehead. "Ow, that's a headache," she said, suddenly looking weak and pale.
"Here, let me help," he said. He took down a bottle from a shelf and opened it, then gently took her hand and turned it palm up, shaking out two pills. He got her a small cup of water from the sink.
She meekly said, "Couple of paracetamol and call me in the morning, eh?" then swallowed them.
"Yes, I imagine you could use some rest." He finished tidying up the infirmary and then waited for her to follow him out into the corridor. "Off to your room, young lady," he commanded, and began to escort her there.
Arriving at her door, she hesitated, and managing enough courage to look him in the eye, apologised. "Sorry about your match. You were a great bowler. And I'm really sorry you had t' carry me back here. I'm a armload a bricks, don't know how you managed it."
"Oh, I'm certain I could manage it again," he replied, his eyes smiling. "But seriously, entirely my fault, this. Shoulda scanned that bottle straight away and warned you off it. I'm rubbish, can't keep you safe anywhere we go."
Looking at the door to her room, Rose realized she wasn't sleepy, she was hungry. "I don't fancy a kip, but I really need to eat. I'm starving! Do you think we could go somewhere, like, normal, and get a proper dinner?"
He smiled wanly. He was truly relieved she was not furious with him. "I have the perfect idea!" he said, snapping his fingers, suddenly in a lighter frame of mind. Reaching out to cup her chin, he gently said, "I'd like to make this up to you, if you'll allow it. May I take you somewhere? I promise nowhere alien, just dinner and dancing. Perhaps you could ask the Tardis to kit you out properly for a real evening on the town?"
"You askin' me out? Yeah, sounds lovely! Need to clean up a bit first, though, don't I?" She looked down at her disheveled state. "I'm awfully dirty."
"I've noticed," he softly replied. She realized he did not mean just her appearance, and blushed. "And, per your earlier query," he added, leaning in towards her ear, his voice growing husky, "the little Time Lord likes to gocommando." He thrust his hands in his pockets, turned on his heel, and swanned off down the hall, leaving her to look at the back of his head.
"Wicked," she murmured. She let out the breath she'd been holding and went into her room to shower and see what the Tardis might have for her to wear.
