Through the tedious, sometimes painful washing, Barbara did her best to ignore the nurse's chirpy voice and focus on Ian, who was sitting in the armchair reading a newspaper. It was really quite sweet of him, after more than forty years of marriage, to allow her the privacy of not being watched as a stranger took care of her hygiene.
The nurse proceeded to help Barbara put on her shirt -- more assistance than was really needed. Barbara's arms weren't broken, thank you very much. And then the nurse clapped hands on the postcard from Suzy, with the pangolins.
"How exotic!" she exclaimed. "Where's it from?"
"Kenya. Our granddaughter's there."
"Oh my. Imagine the places young people go to! It must be so strange for you, though. I mean, back in your day, I suppose it was all just about finding a bloke and settling down, eh?"
Ian folded his newspaper and bit down on the boyish grin that threatened to take over his face. Barbara rolled her eyes at him, careful to keep out of the nurse's sight. She wondered what would happen if she mentioned any of the fascinating places she'd been to with the Doctor, all far more exotic than Kenya. Straight off to the senility ward, she suspected. Although...
"That reminds me, darling," she said loudly, so Ian would be sure to hear, "how about a trip to Mexico in a month or two? I would love to see the Aztec temples again."
She had the satisfaction – though accompanied with a jolt of pain – of feeling the nurse drop her a few inches in surprise.
Ian put the newspaper aside and stood up, approaching the bed. He was still smiling, though she could tell from his thoughtful expression that while he knew what she was doing and approved, he had some objection to voice, probably related to this stupid hip of hers.
"How about Stonehenge?" he offered. "I hear that the energies have been acting up lately."
It was also closer and more accessible, which was probably the real reason. She grimaced. "Too many crazies."
"I'd say!" said the nurse. "Even with the restrictions they have nowadays..."
Barbara tuned her out, her gaze steady on Ian. They were really going to do this – have an adventure again. The only question was what adventure it would be.
"Maybe Paris," he said, softly stroking her knuckles with his thumb.
She frowned. "What's in Paris?"
"The Louvre."
"Oh," she said, slightly disappointed. As romantic as looking at art might be, it was still something for average people, not intergalactic adventurers. "You want that sort of holiday."
"We could get a room," he suggested. "Or two rooms, and have Tory come along. She'd like that."
Barbara translated that as a pragmatic desire to have a pair of young, strong hands present to help with nurse-type things. At least family was better than strangers. "John would like that too," she said reluctantly, knowing that by discussing that aspect, she was as good as approving the plan for a normal old-people holiday. "He's always on about how she needs some hobbies." The best part of old age was without a doubt the sweet revenge of seeing the younger generation fretting over their own teenagers.
"Should I call her, then?" he asked.
The nurse finished what she was doing, offered some more cheerful platitudes, and left. Although Barbara didn't really care one way or another, she had a feeling the nurse was in a huff that they were no longer paying any attention to her.
"Art, though. Are you sure?"
He leaned in, close enough that she could feel his breath tickle her ear, even though nobody else was present anymore, and murmured, "I hear they have a secret collection of alien artifacts."
She perked up. "Do they, now?"
"I'm sure a couple of veterans like us," he kissed her earlobe, "will be able to find it. Aren't you?"
"It'll be a good training exercise for Tory, too," she mused. "After all, like John says, the girl needs some hobbies. All right. The Louvre it is."